# At the Fall of Port Arthur/Chapter 5
#### 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?"
"I jess see that air Semmel go in and out o' the cook's galley."
"That is just what I am reporting!" cried Larry. "Did you see what he did, Luke?"
"No. He wasn't in there only a minit. It looked suspicious to me, though—with all hands gittin' sick from the grub."
"This is all the evidence I want," said Captain Ponsberry. "We'll soon make an end of this. Larry, send Semmel to me."
​The young second mate left the cabin with Luke and both hurried toward the bow, where Semmel and Peterson were conversing in low tones.
"The captain wants to see you at once," said Larry to the bearded sailor.
His tone was so sharp it made Semmel start.
"Vat he vants?" he queried.
"Go and find out for yourself."
"Maybe you git me in droubles, hey?" and the bearded sailor scowled.
"I reckon as how you're gittin' yourself into trouble," drawled Luke, dryly.
"You keep your mouf shut!" cried Semmel. "I no talk to you, no!"
"The captain wants you to report; are you going to do so or not?" demanded Larry.
"Sure I go," answered Semmel, with a toss of his head, and he slouched toward the stern. His manner was so aggressive that Larry picked up a belaying pin before following him.
Captain Ponsberry had just appeared on deck. He had armed himself with a short club,—a sure sign to those who knew him that something unusual was in the wind. His face was stern and forbidding, and all hands gathered around to see what was the trouble.
"Semmel, I want to have a talk with you," he ​said, in a loud voice, as the bearded sailor came up.
To this the sailor nodded but did not answer.
"I want to know what you were doing in the cook's galley a short while ago."
"De cook's galley?" The sailor acted as if he was puzzled. "I no go by de galley, captain."
"You were in the galley and you put something into the stew-pot. What was it?" thundered Captain Ponsberry. "Tell me the truth, or I may take it into my head to break every bone in your body!" And he shook his club in the sailor's face.
"I put noddings in de pot," cried Semmel. "I no go in de galley—I no been in de galley two, tree days. It is a lie!"
"I saw you go in," came from Luke.
"And so did I," added Larry. "And I saw you sprinkle something into the pot."
"What, did dat good-fo'-nuffin furiner put somet'ing in ma eatin'?" shrieked Jeff, who had come up. "Oh,—yo'—yo'——"
"Never mind, Jeff, I'll attend to this," interrupted the captain.
"Yes, sah, but dat monkey-faced——"
"Never mind now—fall back there," added the captain, and the cook fell back, but shook his fist at Semmel.
​"I not in de galley," reiterated the bearded sailor. "Russell an' Striker no tell de truth."
"It is true," cried Larry.
"Thet's so, an' you can't squirm out o' it," broke in Luke. "I saw ye as plain as day."
"I want to know what you put into that stewpot?" continued Captain Ponsberry.
"I no go near de galley. I——"
"I know you went into the galley and I know you put something into the stew. For the last time I ask you, what was it?"
For reply Ostag Semmel simply shrugged his shoulders.
"Are you going to tell me the truth?"
"I reckon the truth ain't in him," grumbled Luke, under his breath.
"I say noddings more," came sourly from the bearded sailor.
"Put that man in irons," commanded Captain Ponsberry, turning quickly to Larry and Grandon. "If he won't talk now, perhaps he'll talk after he has spent a day in the brig."
"Vat! you put me in irons!" shrieked Semmel. "You no got right to do dat, no!"
"Haven't I?" answered Captain Ponsberry, in a voice that cut like a whip. "I'd like to see anybody dispute over it. Larry, Tom, do as I command."
​"Yes, sir," answered Larry, and ran off to get a pair of handcuffs while Tom Grandon stationed himself beside Ostag Semmel, belaying pin in hand.
"You no mak me a prisoner!" fumed the bearded sailor. "You got no right!"
He continued to rave, saying that it was a plot against him, because he had been the first to complain about the vile food served to the hands; that he had not been near the galley and that the captain, Grandon, and Larry knew it. He even appealed to the other sailors to stand by him, and several came forward to argue with Captain Ponsberry. But the master of the schooner was obstinate and would not listen.
"I know what I am doing, men," he said, quickly but firmly. "He is a scoundrel and a spell in the brig will do him good. After this I reckon you'll find the grub all right."
"I no like——" began Peterson, once more.
"You shut up, Peterson, or I'll put you in the brig with Semmel," cut in the captain, and Peterson fell back with the rest, but with a brow that was dark and distrustful.
By this time Larry had returned with the handcuffs and despite the resistance he offered, Ostag Semmel was made a prisoner. Then the first and the second mates led him to the schooner's ​brig,—a narrow, V-shaped room in the bow of the boat, usually used for storing lanterns and oil. The smell in the closet—for it was nothing else—was far from pleasant, and a day in the brig usually made a prisoner repent and promise to do better.
"I mak trouble for dis!" growled Semmel, as the door was closed and bolted on him. "I mak trouble, yes! You got no right to do dis, no!"
"And you haven't any right to doctor the grub," answered Larry, and then he and Grandon walked away.
"That fellow is a first-class villain, to my way of reasoning," was the first mate's comment. "I believe he'd do almost anything to get square for this."
After Ostag Semmel had been placed in the brig Captain Ponsberry called all hands to him once more and related what Luke and Larry had seen. The stew was inspected, but nothing suspicious could be seen about it.
"If any of you want to try that stew you may do so," said the captain. "Of course, if Semmel didn't touch it there can be nothing in it that can hurt you."
But all, even to Peterson, declined to even taste the food. It was one thing to think Semmel innocent but quite another to run the risk of being made sick or poisoned. In the end the stew was dumped ​overboard and Jeff prepared an entirely new dinner for all hands.
"You must keep close watch on all of the men," said the captain to Larry and Grandon, when quietness had been restored. "Semmel was the worst of the lot, but I do not like the way Peterson and one or two others are acting."
"I don't see what they can do," answered Larry.
"They might start a mutiny," came from the first mate.
"Would they dare go as far as that?"
"Sometimes sailors get strange notions, and the old Harry himself can't stop them," said Captain Ponsberry. "A thing that in itself doesn't amount to much will start them off, and they'll imagine that everything is going wrong. When I was a lad, on board the Mary Eliza, Captain Snapper, we had a mutiny just because the coffee wasn't right."
"Yes, and I can remember that they had a mutiny on the old brig Chesterfield because Captain Roe's wife brought a cross-eyed yellow cat on board," added Grandon. "Not a man would hoist a sail until that feline was put ashore. And when, two months later, the brig lost her foremast in a gale, the sailors said it was on account of that same cat, she having scratched the mast before she was taken away!"
​"Well, I hope we don't have a mutiny," said Larry. "I'd like to suggest something, Captain Ponsberry," he went on, to the master of the Columbia.
"Fire ahead, Larry."
"You know we can trust Luke Striker. Why not have him report just what the other hands are doing?"
"That's an idea, and I will act on it. Yes, I'd trust Striker as quick as I'd trust you. If there is to be trouble we certainly want to know of it as soon as possible," concluded the captain.