16 OCTOBER 1926, Page 12

A FO'C'SLE DISPUTE

WE were a fairly peaceful lot until Mr. Ramsay MacDonald announced his intention of making our ship his means of transport to the attempted Stockholm Peace Conference. From the moment this was known the ship seethed with talk. Even the Highland sailors for'ard, who were not conversationalists, became feverishly loquacious. From the outset it was apparent that besides having no honour in his own country, Mr. MacDonald had but little hope of getting a berth from his countrymen. Had a vote been taken among the crew it was doubtful whether anyone—save, perhaps, Rid Cameron, who had queerly turned politician— would have voted in favour of letting any Peace Apostle, as the breed was then called, sail aboard our ship.

As galley boy, I was little concerned with the right and wrong of the affair, but when a fireman stuck his head in at the galley door and bid me come for'ard in obedience to the cook's command (adding the exciting information that a scrap was about to take place) I eagerly deserted my official post and hastened to the well-deck.

The cook cried to me, " Fill two buckets from the water in the scuppers and get ready to douse them when I give ye the word."

So it was true, there would be a fight between those two hefty kinsmen, the Rid and the Black Cameron. Splendid ! Placing a bucket in each corner of the well-deck, and hastily clearing some stray hatch-planks out of the way, I took up a position near the cook ; a fine spot for seeing all that was to happen. The sickness which I had felt, and which had caused me anguish such as only the sea-weary know, now vanished.

Rid Cameron, a six-footer with muscles that rippled like slow-moving liquid and eyes that gleamed fiercely blue and a shock of unruly red hair—he reminded me of what Rob Roy might have been—had laid it down that, " Ramsay MacDonald should get sailin' if he likit, always provided he had his passage money." Black Cameron, lean and cavalier-like, also a six-footer, had retorted that no self-respecting Highlander could sail with a pacifist. Thus a challenge was issued and as speedily accepted ; and this was the result.

" Are ye gaun to be a' night ? "

There was loaded scorn in the referee's voice. Cer- tainly on such an occasion he was not the ideal adjudicator, but owing to the intervention of delicate ties of relation- ship, and also because his contempt for all Highlanders was well known, the cook had nevertheless been appointed referee. ,Easy to see, what he thought about the whole affair ! What _could an .outcast Glasgovian know about the dignity of Highland gentlemen ? As much to impress him as to silence the scoffing of the stokehold mob who formed a " gallery " on the upper deck, the two men faced each other,.

At the start Black Cameron revealed a knowledge of ringcraft gleaned from spasmodic extravagant visits to the cinema. Ignoring this display, Rid Cameron swung his arms windmill-fashion and luckily landed a punch. This ended Black Cameron's exhibition tem- porarily, and, nettled, he went into the fight. For all the world like two angry bulls they met and clinched. An approving shout went up from the crowd. Rid's pacifism was forgotten. The fight had begun.

At that moment, sharp and stinging, rain began to fall. Heedless of treacherous side-slips and indifferent to the ship's rolling, the two fighters parted and trailed each other, warily. Once Black Cameron hopped back- ward, then sideward, and deftly clouted his kinsman soundly. Infuriated, Rid Cameron shuffled after him, his thick, stubby arms working like miniature piston rods, until at last, against the bulkhead under the upper deck, he cornered his man. For a moment there was no sound audible but that of fist meeting solid flesh. Then came sharp gasps of exhaustion, but neither slackened raining blows upon every unguarded spot of his opponent's body. The referee placed someone else's watch in his pocket and forgot time. In fascinated silence the sailors stared, fearfully. My earlier enthu- siasm began to wane.

There was nothing fine about the fight. It outraged my boyish ideals of sportsmanship ; but for all that I could not divert my gaze ; I was mesmerized. Desperate in the knowledge that, pinioned as he then was, doom was imminent, Black Cameron lowered his head and butted goat-fashion. From his supporters and from the -" Glasgie keelie firemen " came a yell of disguised delight ; from the other side there rose a furious shouting of " Foul ! " Fearing the skipper might intervene, cook shouted " Water for the fighters! . . ." Nor was his request superfluous ; bare from the hip upwards, the two men were so smeared with blood that they looked like decorated savages.

Refreshed, they began again. Now there was no effort to control passion, and this bloody combat over pacifism grew still more furious ; sea-boots were brought into play. Black Cameron, being the lighter of foot, once cleverly but cruelly stabbed his antagonist above the knee. Crippled, Rid Cameron was now forced to take up a stationary position. This compelled Black Cameron to set the pace. And since he could retire swiftly he had an advantage he did not ever disregard. With great show he would dart forward, land a blow, and jump back into the open again. Soon Rid Cameron's nose rivalled his hair in hue, but his eyes never lost their clear, piercing look of deadly determination. Thus I was glad, in spite of my sympathy with Black Cameron and the issue he fought for, when, after giving sign that he grew weary, Rid Cameron moved his head ever so slightly—with the assurance of a Carpentier—and let Black's right arm swing harmlessly over his shoulder. Then, before recovery was possible, he smashed home a jaw-breaking right-arm jab.

" Bravo, Rid ! " I shouted ; then a man in the Cameron clan cuffed me unconscious.

When I came to, the fight was over. A floating mine had appeared on our port bow and the crew were called