At the Fall of Port Arthur: or, A Young American in the Japanese Navy

"I shall watch him pretty closely after this," said Captain Ponsberry. "One discontented fellow like him can upset the whole ship if he sets out to do it."

"They can't complain of the grub," went on the first mate. "It's as good as on any merchantman, and better than the law requires."

"I guess it was the deck-swabbing that gave him the stomach ache," said Larry, and this made the captain and Grandon smile.

The next day when the sailors sat down to their dinner two or three of them sniffed suspiciously at the food they were eating.

"This don't taste just right to me," said Shamhaven. "The meat tastes decayed."

"And the vegetables ain't much better," put in Conroy, – a sturdy Irish-American, who was one of the best seamen on the schooner.

"Dat dinner am fust-class," cried Jeff. "I ain't gwine to stand yere an' see you growlin' at it."

"It certainly tastes a bit off, Jeff," put in Jack Wilbur. "Taste it yourself."

The cook did so, and his face looked doubtful for a moment.

"Guess dat needs a little salt an' pepper," he said, slowly. It did not taste nearly as good as he had anticipated.

As there was nothing else to do, and they were hungry, the men ate the meal, grumbling to themselves as they did so. Luke said but little and ate sparingly, and his example was followed by Cal Vincent.

The captain, Grandon, and Larry ate in the cabin and the dinner served to them was first-class in every particular.

"Guess Jeff is spreading himself, just to show what he can do," remarked Larry to the first mate, after he had finished his repast.

"It's very good, Larry," answered Tom Grandon.

By the middle of the afternoon three of the men were complaining of feeling sick and all attributed their ailments to what they had eaten for dinner.

"Ha! vat I tole you?" cried Semmel. "Didn't I say de grub vos pad? Not maybe you belief me, hey?"

"I shan't stand for any more poor grub," came from Shamhaven. "If I can't get good stuff I'm going to the captain about it."

The sickness of the hands worried Captain Ponsberry greatly and he opened up his medicine chest and gave them such remedies as he thought were best.

At supper time Jeff was extra cautious in selecting and preparing the food. Nevertheless, the men who ate of it were suspicious and more than half the meal went to waste. The captain was very thoughtful, but said little or nothing.

On the following day the wind died down utterly and it was exceedingly warm. With nothing to do, the majority of the hands gathered at the bow to talk of matters in general, and the food in particular. Semmel and Peterson were of the number, and both did all in their power to magnify the outrage, as they termed it.

"Der captain don't haf any right to gif us such grub," said Semmel. "It vos against der law."

"On some ships there would be a mutiny over this," added Peterson.

Larry overheard a part of the conversation and it set him thinking. Luke Striker also grew suspicious.

"Unless I am mistaken, this is some of Semmel's work," said Larry to the old tar. "He is doing his level best to make trouble on the ship."

"Well, he better mind his business," grumbled Luke. "I don't reckon the captain will stand fer any underhanded work."

Without appearing to do so, Larry continued to keep his eyes on Semmel, and about an hour before dinner he saw the bearded sailor approach the cook's galley and look inside. Jeff was below, getting a case of canned goods. With a swift movement, Semmel stepped into the galley, raised the lid of a big pot full of stew that was on the stove, and sprinkled something over the food. Then he hurried out and sneaked forward once more.

"The rascal!" murmured Larry. "So this is his game. I wonder what he put into that pot?"

For the moment the young second mate thought to confront Semmel and demand an explanation. Then he changed his mind and hurried for the cabin, to tell the news to Captain Ponsberry.

CHAPTER V

SIGNS OF A MUTINY

"I've found out something important, Captain Ponsberry," said Larry, as he entered the cabin. "I now know what's the matter with the grub." To all salt-water sailors food is grub and nothing else.

"Well, what is the matter with it?" questioned the master of the Columbia, quickly.

"It's being doctored, that's what's the matter."

"Doctored?"

"Yes, sir, – doctored by Semmel, too."

"Will you explain what you mean, Larry?" demanded the captain, intensely interested.

"I just saw that rascal go into the cook's galley. Jeff wasn't there, and Semmel took the lid off of a big pot on the stove and sprinkled something inside."

"What!" Captain Ponsberry leaped to his feet "Are you certain of this?" he demanded.

"I am – for I saw it with my own eyes."

"What was that stuff he put into the pot?"

"I don't know."

"Did he touch anything else?"

"No. He was in a tremendous hurry and wasn't in the galley more than a minute at the most."

"The scoundrel!" Captain Ponsberry clenched his fists. "Larry, you are positive you are making no mistake?"

"I saw the thing done just as I told you. The stuff was in a bit of white paper. When he went forward he threw the paper overboard."

"Did anybody else see this?"

"I don't think so. But – "

At that moment came a knock on the cabin door and Luke Striker appeared.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, touching his cap. "But I've got something important to report."

"What is it, Striker?"