Champ of the Forecastle - Robert E. Howard (e books free to read .txt) š
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Champ of the Forecastle
by Robert E. Howard
I DONāT HAVE to have a man tell me he craves war. I can tell it by the set of his jaw, the glare in his eyes. So, when Sven Larson raised his huge frame on his bunk and accused me of swiping his tobaccer, I knowed very well what his idee was. But I didnāt want to fight Sven. Havinā licked the big cheese three or four times already, I seen no need in mauling him any more. So somewhat to the surprise of the rest of the crew, I said:
āSven, thatās purty crude. You didnāt need to think up no lie to pick a fight with me. I know you crave to be champion of the Sea Girl, but they aināt a chance, and I donāt want to hurt youāā
I got no further, because with a bullās beller he heaved hisself offa his bunk and come for me like a wild man. Gosh, what a familiar scene that wasāthe fierce, hard faces ringing us, the rough bunks along the wall, the dim light of the lantern swinging overhead, and me standing in the middle, barefooted and stripped to the waist, holding my only title against all comers! They aināt a inch of that forecastle floor that I aināt reddened with my blood. They aināt a edge of a upper bunk that I aināt had my head smashed against. And since I been a man grown they aināt a sailor on the Seven Seas that can say he stood up to me in that forecastle and beat me down.
The lurching of the ship and the unsteady footing donāt bother me none, nor the close space and foul, smoke-laden air. Thatās my element, and if I couldst fight in the ring like I can in the forecastle, with nothing barred, Iād be champion of something besides a tramp wind-jammer.
Well, Sven come at me with his old styleāstraight up, wide open, with a wild swinging right. I ducked inside it and smashed my left under his heart, following instantly with a blasting right hook to the jaw as he sagged. He started falling and a lurch of the ship throwed him half under a opposite bunk. Theyās no mercy ast, give or expected in a forecastle fight; itās always to the finish. I was right after him, and no sooner hadst he got to his feet than I smashed him down again before he could get his hands up.
āLetās call it a day, Sven,ā I growled. āI donāt want to punch you no more.ā
But he come weaving up, spitting blood and roaring in his own tongue. He tried to clinch and gouge, but another right hook to the jaw sent him down and out. I shook the sweat outa my eyes and glared down at him in some irritation, which was mixed with the satisfaction of knowing that again I hadst proved my right to the title of champion of the toughest ship afloat. Maybe you think thatās a mighty small thing, but itās the only title I got and Iām proud of it.
But I couldnāt get onto Sven. Me and him was good friends ordinarily, but ever so often heād get the idee he couldst lick me. So the next day I looked him up between watches and found him sulking and brooding. I looked over his enormous frame and shook my head in wonder to think that I hadst gotten no further in the legitimate ring than I have, when I can lay out such incredible monsters as Sven so easy.
Six feet four he was in his socks, and his two hundred and forty-five pounds was all muscle. I can bend coins between my fingers, tear up decks of cards and twist horseshoes in two, but Svenās so much strongerān me theyās no comparison. But size and strength aināt everything.
āSven,ā said I, āhow come you forever got to be fightinā me?ā
Well, at first he wouldnāt say, but at last it come out.
āAYE BANE GOT girl at Stockholm. She bane like me purty good, but they bane another faller. His name bane Olaf Ericson and he own fishing smack. Always when Aye go out with my girl, he bane yump on me and he always lick me. Aye tank if Aye ever lick you, Aye can lick Olaf.ā
āSo you practice on me, hey?ā I said. āWell, Sven, you never will lick me nor Olaf nor any man which can use his hands unless you change your style. Oh, uh course, youāre a bear-cat when it comes to fightinā ignorant dock-wallopers and deck-hands which never seen a glove and canāt do nothinā but bite and gouge. But you see what happens when you get up against a real fightinā man. Sven,ā said I on a sudden impulse, like I usually do, āfar be it from me to see a deep water seaman get beat up regular by a Baltic fish-grabber. Itās a reflection on the profession and on the ship. Sven,ā said I, āIām goinā to train you to lick this big cheese.ā
Well, I hadnāt never give much thought to Sven before, only in a general wayāyou canāt pay close attention to every square-head which comes and goes aboard a trading shipābut in the weeks which followed I done my best to make a fighting man of him. I rigged up a punching bag for him and sparred with him between watches. When him or me wasnāt doing our trick at the wheel or holystoning the deck, or scraping the cable or hauling on a rope, or trimming sail or exchanging insults with the mates, I tried to teach him all I knowed.
Understand, I didnāt try to make no boxing wizard outa him. The big slob couldnāt of learned even if I could of taught him. And I didnāt know how myself. I aināt a clever boxer. Iām a rough and willing mixer in the ring, but compared to such rough-house scrappers as Sven, Iām a wonder. The simple ducking, slipping and blocking, which even the crudest slugger does in the ring, is beyond the ken of the average untrained man, and as for scientific hitting, they never heard of it. They just draw back the right and let it go without any aim, timing nor nothing. Well, I just taught Sven the fundamentalsāto stand with his left foot forward and not get his legs crossed, to lead with his left and to time and aim a little. I got him outa the habit of swinging wild and wide open with his right all the time, and by constant drilling I taught him the knack of hooking and hitting straight. I also give him a lot of training to harden his body muscles, which was his weak spot.
Well, the big Swede took to it like a duck takes to water, and after Iād explained each simple move upwards of a thousand times, heād understand it and apply it and he wouldnāt forget. Like lots of square-heads, he was slow to learn, but once he had learned, he remembered what heād learned. And his great size and strength was a big asset.
Bill OāBrien says, āSteve, youāre traininā the big sap to take your title away from you.ā But I merely laughed with great merriment at the idee.
Sven had a wallop like a muleās kick in either hand, and when he learned to use it, he was dangerous to any man. He was pretty tough, too, or got so before I got through with him. He wasnāt very fast, and I taught him a kind of deep defensive crouch like Jeffries used. He took to it natural and developed a surprising left for the body.
After six months of hard work on him, I felt sure that he could lick the average alley-fighter easy. And about this time we was cruising Baltic waters and headed for Stockholm.
As we approached his native heath, Sven grew impatient and restless. He had a lot more self-confidence now and he craved another chance at Olaf, the demon rival. Sven wasnāt just a big unwieldy slob no more. Constant sparring with me and Bill OāBrien had taught him how to handle hisself and how to use his bulk and strength. A few days outa Stockholm he had a row with Mushy Hansen, which was two hundred pounds of fighting man, and he knocked the Dane so cold it took us a hour and a half to bring him to.
Well, that cheered Sven up considerable and when we docked, he said to me: āAye go see Segrida, my girl, and find out if Olaf bane in port. He bane hang out at dey Fishermanās Tavern. Aye go past with Segrida and he come out and yump on me, like usual. Only diss time Aye bane lick him.ā
Well, at the appointed time me and Bill and Mushy was loafing around the Fishermanās Tavern, a kind of bar where a lot of tough Swedish fishermen hung out, and pretty soon, along come Sven.
He had his girl with him, all right, a fine, big blonde girlāone of these tall, slender yet well-built girls which is overflowing with health and vitality. She was so pretty I was plumb astounded as to what she seen in a big boob like Sven. But women is that way. They fall for the dubs and pass up the real prizesālike me, for instance.
Segrida looked kind of worried just now and as they neared the Tavern, she cast a apprehensive eye that way. Well, they was abreast of the door when a kind of irritated roar sounded from within and out bulged what could of been nobody but Olaf the Menace, hisself, in person.
THERE WAS A man for you! He was fully as tall as Sven, though not as heavy. Tall, lithe and powerful he was, like a big, blond tiger. He was so handsome I couldst easily see why Segrida hesitated between him and Svenāor rather I couldnāt see why she hesitated at all! Olaf looked like one of these here Vikings you read about which rampaged around in old times, licking everybody. But he had a hard, cruel eye, which I reckon goes with that kind of nature.
He had some fellers with him, but they stayed back in the doorway while he swaggered out and stopped square in front of Sven. He had a most contemptuous sneer and he said something which of course I couldnāt understand, but as Mushy later translated the conversation to me, Iāll give it like Mushy told to me and Bill.
āWell, well,ā said Olaf, ālooking for another licking, eh? Your deep sea boy friend is back in port looking for his usual trouncing, eh, Segrida?ā
āOlaf, please,ā said Segrida, frightened. āDonāt fight, please!ā
āI warned you what would happen to him,ā said Olaf, āif you went out with himāā
At this moment Sven, who had said nothing, shocked his bold rival by growling: āToo much talk; put up your hands!ā
Olaf, though surprised, immediately done so, and cut Svenās lip with a flashing straight left before the big boy couldst get in position. Segrida screamed but no cops was in sight and the battle was on.
Olaf had learned boxing some place, and was one of the fastest men for his size I ever seen. For the first few seconds he plastered Sven
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