"Whew!" went Mathew when he found himself back in his seat. Such passions as he was prone to sometimes got the better of him and he would find himself in situations from which it was hard to get extricated. His mind went back to that time on a Great Lakes steamer when he had signed on board with the secret motive of recruiting the crew into a union. This union was not too popular with the ship owners, and they had placed their own men on ships with the purpose of dealing with such as Mathew. A few of his colleagues on similar missions had met with mysterious accidents, falling overboard late at night with no one to witness.
Mathew had talked with two members of the engine crew that evening, after cautiously sounding them out as persons he could trust. So that they could bring two more of their friends in to see him, he had arranged this late night meeting on the fantail, after the men below's shift had finished. Darkness lay beyond the railing like something palpable, not even letting him see the water below, though he could hear it as the propellors churned it into foam. He pulled down his cap a little and lit his pipe. This was to be the signal that no one else was around on deck and he could be approached.
Indeed, a shadowy figure could presently be seen, making his way down the stairwell. Mathew stiffened reflexively, since he was expecting a group of three. His caution was warranted, as in the very moment when the man from the stairwell came towards him, a hand from behind clamped over his face, and strong arms pinioned him to the rail. "Here's what we do to Reds," a voice whispered in his ear, and inexorably he found himself being boosted over the railing.
It looked to be all finished for Mathew, when cries rang out on the quarterdeck, and he heard the sound of feet pelting over the steel. With his belly pressing into the handrail, all he could see was the roiling darkness beneath him, and feel the spray of water on his face. He was nearly all the way over when he felt himself grabbed by the back of the collar and pulled rearwards to safety. From certain death to rescue had taken less than ten seconds. He saw from where he was sitting on the deck his attackers fighting with his rescuers, but before he could rise up and join the fray the unsuccessful murderers had broken free and were making a hasty escape.
"Are you all right?" one of Mathew's saviours asked him. He was one of the stokers who was invited to the late night meeting.
"I suppose so," replied Mathew, breathless but trying to sound nonchalant. "I guess it goes with the job."
"We saw them tipping you over, but we were afraid we might be too late."
"Nope, you were just in time. Though you might have showed up a little earlier."
"Well, at least you're still around. You better watch yourself from now on. I think someone's wise to you."
"That's a pretty safe bet."
The life of Mathew Robinson, union organiser, was not always a safe one. Still, it made good material for a story, and Mathew sat back in quiet satisfaction after offering his piece.
(c) Jack Ruttan, 1998