Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

That, somehow, sobered young Pedersen, who was soft, you see, because of his youth.

Jack Joe was at the wheel and Leonard called to him, bade him put the vessel about. He even lent a hand to hasten the movement, while Hansen, struggling in the water clutched the logline trailing from the stern.

Dolph’s Little Joke

The shouts from the crew drew Hell Fire to the deck.

“What the hell’s the matter here?” he cried, with more oaths making, as Jack Joe said, “very dirty in his mouth.”

“Who told you to bring the vessel round?” he asked Joe, striking him.

“The second mate, sir. There is a man overboard.”

Hell Fire strode to the rail, looked unconcernedly down, spat, and returned to the wheel.

“To hell with the man overboard, you—; put the vessel back on her course.”

“I could hear Hansen crying for help,” Reilly said on the witness stand, shuddering. “Out of the sea came the smothered cries, ‘Oh, save me, save me!’

“But the captain ordered the crew standing about to take care of the sails. They did not move fast enough, thinking of poor Hansen there, and the captain hit them with the tiller stick. They sent the vessel on in higher speed. And at last poor Hansen let go the rope and sank out of sight.”

“I didn’t see a man overboard — I saw only spray,” the captain maintained on the stand. “It was too dark to see.” His attorney brought forth an almanac to prove that at four o’clock in that particular spot known among the seamen as “Sailor’s Grave” and the “Rainy Forties,” it was at dawn, too dark to see. Besides, a squall had come up. It was impossible to put about to rescue Hansen.

But the crew knew well — and the master knew they knew — that it would have been possible, had he wished, to rescue Hansen. Hell Fire did not take it as quite the joke young Dolph, the second mate, later seemed to believe it. Dolph found Hansen’s rule book and thus inscribed the fly leaf:

The Dane is now a peaceful member of humanity. He will never again preach doctrines from the little green book.

But the glib attorney hired to defend the Pedersens denied any guilt of Hansen’s death on the part of the defendants.

Seven days, he said, before Hansen died — jumped overboard, committing suicide — he had signed a confession admitting guilt of mutiny. He had confessed to planning destruction of the ship. He feared the just punishment which, once ashore, lay ahead of him.

The second mate told how Hansen had confessed to wishing to destroy the ship because the Black Hand was after him, and if they heard the ship was lost they would cease pursuing him, believing Hansen to have gone down with the ship.

“But would Hansen not have gone down with the ship?” asked the district attorney mildly. “How did he propose saving himself as the ship blew up?”

Hell Fire Belies His Name

The second mate who had prepared the confessions had the intelligence, as they were read in court, to look rather foolish. He was clever enough to realize that they were absurd.

Had Hansen been blowing up the ship, the government pointed out, surely he would have done so earlier. Why should a roan endure months of torture if he had planned anyhow to end it all?

He was a melancholy Dane, the defendants chanted. He attempted suicide half a dozen times before he succeeded.

“Did you not know,” asked Mr. Matthews, “that it is customary to toss ropes or planks to drowning persons?”

“It may be customary,” said Pedersen, “but I did not see Hansen. I looked and saw only the spray. Besides there was the squall which kept us from putting about.”

“Did you order any of the crew to pull in the logline?” asked Mr. Matthews then.

“No; there was a stiff breeze, the ship was in the wind,” said the captain.

Now, strangely enough, on the stand battling for his life, Captain Pedersen belied his name of Hell Fire and his reputation as a swaggering bully. He spoke softly, even shyly. The jury — and it could not fail to impress them — had to lean forward to catch all he said. But his soft words were belied by another witness.

“My Screw-driver”

The government called Captain John Duffy, United States Navy, master of the American transport Luckenbach. Captain Duffy took a full rigged model of the Puako and set it on the floor, where he showed plainly that no matter how the weather, the Puako could have put about to take Hansen in.

He set the sails so that they were drawing a stiff breeze. He pointed the model as the Puako was heading when Hansen jumped into the sea. The court and the jury stood up while, on his knees, Captain Duffy showed how, even in the face of the wind, the vessel might have been brought about while rescue was made.

“If Captain Pedersen cared to have done so, Hansen could have been saved,” he testified.