A LOVELY SCRAP ON THE BOCA

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 17, 21 January 1939, Page 2 (Supplement)

A LOVELY SCRAP ON THE BOCA

Cuffers Spurt In The Dog Watch

I WAS chief officer en a "Big Georgia" tramp that was trading from New York to the River Rate. She was owned by a Newcastle firm and commanded by an old Welsh skipper who was carrying his wife and daughter this trip. Hs was en iraseible, quick-tempered, lovable old man with a heart full of loving kindness for anyone In trouble. His wife was a lovely old dear and the girl waff "just It"—clean and good, a true and lovely woman, but no fool. I was never in love with her, for the old man had given me the tip. "Keep off the graM, young fellow," he said. "She in not for you, she is bespoke already." So I wan her very good friend and we nil got along well together. We had been up the river to load for Antwerp, and we had come down to Hucnos Ayres to complete. We were sailing on Monday night, and it was then Saturday evening. We were moored nt; the Boca and ahead of us, on the flock wide, there whs moored a Yankee barque. Astern of us. on the Baraocas side, was a German ship, a Norwegian barque and a Russian barque. [ had been shipmates with the Yankee skipper and mute and with four of ♦ ho hands forward. Therefore, they all knew me well and were pleased to meet me. I had been aboard the Yank for tea that evening and had Rone from there ii|i to the city. Later in the evening I met our skipper iind h> daughter sitting on one of the scuts of the Plaza De Mayo and they were accompanied by tlie Yankee skipper. It was getting late, and when [ mine past the captain called me. "Mister, will you please take my daughter ii hoard? She's tired of being here nnd I want to go to the American Consul's nfliee," The girl and 1 took a tram for the Boca. We were approaching our own gangway when a drunken Russian sailor enme I in -1. shouting and yelling. As he passed us be said something * crv insulting to the girl. He then (ittempted to grub her by the arm and I pushed him away. He fell down and I if'it the girl to the gangway. "On up quick and tell file watchman I'm u (| i"g hack for flint. Dutchman." She looked hard at me, hut only said: "All right, Bob," then up the gangway she

went like a scalded cat. She was met on the deck by the watchman, a Kinsale Irishman, and all he said was: "Holy Mike!" Then: "All right, miss. I'll get the boys." He scuttered along the deck. The girl followed him to see what was going to happen.

By--Captain Cliffe

The crew forward were all of them Irishmen, the sailors Kinsale men, and the firemen Cork and Galway boys. Although they fought like brothers amongst themselves, yet against a common enemy they stuck to each other like a bidi-bidi to a pair of woollen pants. This is what the girl heard. (We will call her Charlotte for short.) Into the fo'c'sle the watch ran and shouted: "Git up, ye dirty herring unifiers! Git up and git at it! A fight! A fight!" A moment before the fo'c'sle was quiet, but when the word fight was wafted on to the balmy air the whole atmosphere was changed. With a yell they jumped up and excitedly pulled on just enough clothes to be decent. The watchman had gone to the firemen's fo'c'sle with: "Git up, ye lousy Cork, so-and-sos, and ye Galway sons o' sin! Git up and git at it 1 It's a fight. Come and git at it!" There was another wild veil and both squads, black and white, made their wild way on to the breastwork. As to myself. I went back and gave that big Russian a crack on the end of hi* prominent nose that made him see stars. Then I proceeded to whale him. He resisted, then yelled again and again. An answering yell came from his own ship and wan caught up by the German and Norwegian ships. What was yelled I don't know, but when that treble yell came back I knew it was serious, so I called too. "Fred V. Litchfield! Fred P. Litchfield! A tight, a tight!" Tn a moment there was an answering yell from the ank. Her crew, which was composed of Newfoundlanders. Nova Ncotians, Cape (nd Ttieri and a few Irish-Americans, came streaming oxer the sides of their ship on to the Strand.

"Help! Help! The Dutchies are on us!" I yelled. Now there was a yell from our gangway and our crowd came on shore, yelling like madmen. Charlotte stood on the bridge of our ship and cheered us on. "Give it to them! Teach tliem manners!" she yelled excitedly. The fighting blood of the old Welsh Celts had surged to the surface and she looked like a reincarnation of Queen Boadicea. Then the battle -was joined and with a yell we all surged in. Individual scraps, of course, opened the ball and I found opposite me a big Russian who could not fight the way we did. He made a rush and I ducked, and coming up I jabbed him wickedly right in one of his eyes. He put up his hand to feel it, and I shut the other one up for him. Down he went and I verily believe he only went down to get out of the way. I soon found another adversary; he was a pretty good fighter, but the rush was taking us away from each other. Then we joined forces and charged and they broke before us and then closed in again. Again it was a melee, and also the joy of indiscriminate fighting. "The Dutchies are kicking," someone yelled. "Put in the boot good-oh!" You hit a head where you raw it, you kicked anywhere and everywhere. It was the true melee and we enjoyed every moment of it. When your fist struck the heed of an opponent a lovely feeling travelled from your fist up the marrows of your bones and went over your heart and brain with a thrill of joy and satisfaction. This was a man's fight, no quarter given and none asked. Each new head brought new joys and you even yearned for the thud of someone else's fist against your own—and you got it. Give and take was the cry; everybody was enjoying themselves immensely. You would hear the cry: "Ireland for ever! Give it to 'em, Boston! Now, you Newfoundland dry fish lubbers, give it to 'em!" and not to be beaten I yelled: "Go it, New Zealand!" It was a wild scene and others, attracted by the row, joined in and soon 200 or 300 men were fighting and yelling like madmen on that dirty old Boca. Few knew why. Who says there is no joy in life while there is time and inclination to have a fight, a lovely fight, a glorious fight, with no apite or hard feelings after it.

The only men I ever loved are the ones I fought with. Off we go again! Thud, thud, could be heard and the crack and crash of hard fists against soft fat heads and bodies. Coats were soon discarded, they were in the way, while hats had long gone the same wav. It was a surging, whirling mass; by the row and ycll« you would think Lucifer was picking candidates for a trip through Hades. The excitement spread and, with it, wild rumours. The Sailors' Home and Mission Hall, not far distant, was soon emptied of its inmates who, rushing on to the scene, took respective sides and disappeared in the squirming mass of bodies and whirling arms. Personally, I was having a monkey and a parrot of a time. My nose was bleeding, one eye was well closed, and my upper lip was split and half my long moustache was missing. My coat was gone and my hat with it; my collar and tie had been torn off. Then there

came a roar: "The police! Tlie police!" and down they came oil us, some mounted and some on foot. They reined in close to the edges of the maelstrom of mad humans and they inspected it with calm, cool, critical eyes. Soon they discovered that it was mainly a sailors' fight and an order was quickly parsed around. In effect it was: "Don't interfere; it's only a sailors' row." Then they drew back and calmly lit their cigarettes. Still the fight surged on and hundreds of people were arriving on the scene from the city, where a report had spread that there was a "revolution." Revolution—it was nothing as tame as that. This was a he-men's nght and we were all enjoying it. Then some darn fool of a Dutchy struck a police officer and the fat was in the fire. In a moment an order was given and there was wild chaos. Into our lovely fight there intruded the hard shoes and legs and

shoulders of wild horses and the batons and sticks of men, who were now eager to avenge what they called an insult to one of their kind. These police were great in a scrap, and we would only suffer if we persisted, so I yelled: "Americans ahoy, get aboard!" "Trish nhoy, get aboard and report!" This cry was passed along, and soon our crowd was gathered on our decks and the Yank crew came with them. Xo one was missing. but we were a wild-looking, bedraggled crowd. We had a. lovely time and everyone was pleased. Black eyes, scratches, broken teeth, bruised shins, broken fingers and lots of other things. Some were nearly naked —some had had their clothes torn off— •but that was nothing. We had the wildest hour of real unadulterated pleasure we had had for years. An Irish-American stepped forward and said: "Well, mister, we've had a gay time all right, but what I would like to know now is what the divil was all the row about anyhow?" So ended one of the loveliest scraps I was ever engaged in. Even now, at my time of life, I can sometimes feel my old insurgent spirit welling up within me at the thought of those thud-thuds of hard fists on soft bodies and thick heads.