THE BLOOD SHIP

by

NORMAN SPRINGER

Grosset & DunlapPublishers ---------- New YorkMade in the United States of AmericaCopyright, 1922, byW. J. Watt & CompanyPrinted in the United States of AmericaThird Edition

THE BLOOD SHIP

CHAPTER I

It was the writing guy who drew this story out of Captain Shreve. Hetalked so much I think the Old Man spun the yarn just to shut him up. He had talked ever since his arrival on board, early that morning, witha letter from the owners' agent, and the announcement he intendedmaking the voyage with us. He had weak lungs, he said, and was insearch of mild, tropical breezes. Also, he was seeking local color, and whatever information he could pick up about "King" Waldon. 

He had heard of the death of "King" Waldon, down in Samoa--Waldon, thetrader, of the vanishing race of island adventurers--and he expected totravel about the south seas investigating the "king's" past, so hecould write a book about the old viking. He had heard that CaptainShreve had known Waldon. Hence, he was honoring a cargo carrier withhis presence instead of taking his ease upon a mail-boat. 

Captain Shreve must tell him all he knew about the "king. " He wasintensely interested in the subject. Splendid material, you know. That romantic legend of Waldon's arrival in the islands--too good to betrue, and certainly too good not to put into a book. Was CaptainShreve familiar with the tale? How this fellow, Waldon, sailed into aSamoan harbor in an open boat, his only companion his beautiful youngwife? Imagine--this man and woman coming from nowhere, sailing in fromthe open sea in a small boat, never telling whence they came!

He said this was the stuff to go into his book. Romance, mystery! Itwas quite as important as the later and better known incidents in the"king's" life. That was why Captain Shreve must tell him all he knewabout the fellow. If he could only get at the beginning of the"king's" career in the islands. Where did the fellow come from? Whyshould a man bring his bride into an uncivilized and lawless section ofthe world, and settle down for life? There must be a story in that. Ah, yes, and he was the man who could properly do it. 

Well, that was the way that writer talked. He talked so steadilynobody could slide a word in edgeways. Yet he said he wantedinformation. We wondered. If the ability to deliver an unendingmonologue, consisting chiefly of the ninth letter in the alphabet, isany sign of lung power, that chap didn't need any cod-liver oil or seaair. He could have given up writing, and still have made a good livingashore as a blacksmith's bellows! And as for the local color andinformation--well, he blinked through his black rimmed glasses at ourimmaculate decks, and said it was a pity they built ships for use andnot for looks nowadays, and went on talking about himself, and what hecould do with "King" Waldon. 

Briggs, the mate, confided to me in a soft aside that the chap wasmaking the voyage because he knew he had an audience which couldn'tescape--unless it jumped over the side. Captain Shreve didn't confide;his face kept its accustomed expression of serenity, and he made noattempt to stem the author's flood of words. I was somewhat surprisedby this meekness, for our Old Man is a great hand to puncture awindbag; but then, I reflected, the writing guy, being a passenger, wasin the nature of a guest on board, and, according to Captain Shreve'scode, a man to be humored. 

We lay in the Stream, with a half dozen hours to pass ere we proceededto sea. It was Sunday, so we were idle, the four of us lounging on thelower bridge deck--the Captain, Briggs, myself, and this humanphonograph. It was a pleasant day, and we would have enjoyed the loafin the warm afternoon sunshine, had it not been for the unending drivelof the passenger. I enjoyed it anyway, for even though the ears befilled with a buzzing, the eyes are free, and San Francisco Bay is aninteresting place. 

". . . And the critics all agree, " the passenger rambled on, "that mygenius is proved by my amazingly accurate portraits of character. Ihave the gift. That is why I shall do 'King' Waldon so well. I needbut a mental image of the man to make him live again. You must tell mewhat he looked like, Captain. Is it true, as I have been told, he wassuch a giant of a man, and possessed of such enormous physicalstrength? And that his hair retained its yellow luster even in oldage? And that he had a great scar on his face, or head, about which henever spoke? Ah, yes, you must tell me about him, Captain. "

Captain Shreve grunted at this--the first sound he had been able tosqueeze into the talk for half an hour. But the author did not pause;in fact he hastened on, as though determined to forestall anyinterruption. Talk! I don't know when that fellow found any time towrite. He was too eager to tell the world about his gift. 

"You know, " says he, "I need but a few little intimate facts about'King' Waldon's appearance and character, and I can make him stalkthrough my story as truly alive as when he was in the flesh. If hewere alive I should not need your assistance, Captain; one look at theman and I could paint him in his true colors. I have that gift. Notmen alone--I am able to invest even inanimate objects with personality. A house, a street, or a--yes, even a ship. Even this ship. Now, thisold box----"

Captain Shreve sat up straight in his chair. I thought he was raspedby the fellow's slur, for he is very proud of his ship. But it wassomething else that rubbed the expression of patient resignation fromhis face; he was staring over the starboard rail with an expression oflively interest. I followed his gaze with mine, but saw only aferryboat in the distance, and, close by, a big red-stack tug towing adilapidated coal hulk. 

The Captain's eyes were upon this tow. He tugged excitedly at hisbeard. "Well, by George, what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. He turnedto the mate, his bright eyes snapping. "Look, Briggs! Do you knowher? By George, do you recognize her?"

The writing guy was disgusted by this interruption, just when he wasgoing to prove his genius. Briggs shifted his quid, spat, andinspected the passing hulk with extreme deliberation. I looked at hertoo, wondering what there was about an old coal-carrier that couldpierce Captain Shreve's accustomed phlegm. 

The tow was passing abreast, but a couple of hundred yards distant. The tug was shortening the line, and on the hulk's forecastle-head acouple of hands were busy at a cathead, preparing to let go anchor. She was ill-favored enough to look at, that hulk--weather-beaten, begrimed, stripped of all that makes a ship sightly. Nothing but theworn-out old hull was left. An eyesore, truly. Yet, any seaman couldsee with half an eye she had once been a fine ship. The clipper lineswere there. 

Suddenly Briggs sat up in his chair, and exclaimed, "Well, blast myeyes, so it is!" He nodded to the Captain, and then returned hisregard to the hulk, his nostrils working with interest. "So it is! Soit is! Well, blast my----"

"Is what?" I demanded. "What do you two see in that old hull that isso extraordinary?"

Just then the writing guy decided we had monopolized the conversationlong enough. So he seized the opportunity to exercise for our benefitthe rare gift he was endowed with. He glanced patronizingly at thecoal hulk, wrinkled his nose in disapprobation of her appearance, anddelivered himself in an oracular voice. 

"What a horrible looking old tub! Not a difficult task to invest herwith her true personality. An old workhorse--eh? A broken down oldplug, built for heavy labor, and now rounding out an uninspiringexistence by performing the most menial of tasks. An aptdescription--what?"

I noticed a faint smile crack the straight line of Captain Shreve'smouth. But it was Briggs who was unable to contain himself. He turnedfull upon the poor scribe, and plainly voiced his withering scorn. 

"Why, blast my eyes, young feller, if you weren't as blind as a batyou'd know you were talking rot! 'A workhorse!' you say. 'A brokendown old plug!' Blast me, man, look at the lines of her!"

The passenger flushed, and stared uncomprehendingly at the poor oldhulk. The tug had gone, and she was lying anchored, now, a few hundredyards off our starboard bow. A sorry sight. The author could seenothing but her ugliness. 

"Why, she is just a dirty old scow--" he commenced. 

"Blast me, can't you even guess what she once was?" went on Briggs, relentlessly. "Well, young feller, that dirty old scow--as you callher--is the _Golden Bough_!"

The passenger only blinked. The name meant nothing to him. But it didto me. 

"The _Golden Bough_!" I echoed. "Surely you don't mean the _GoldenBough_?"

"But I do, " said Briggs. He waved his hand. "There she is--the_Golden Bough_. All that is left of the finest ship that ever smasheda record with the American flag at her gaff. She's a coal hulk now, but once she was the finest vessel afloat. Eh, Captain?"

Captain Shreve nodded affirmation. Then he turned to the writing guy, and courteously salved the chap's self-esteem. 

"Small wonder you overlooked her build; it takes a sailor's eye forsuch things. And really, your description strikes home to me. We areall workhorses, are we not, we of the sea? And time breaks down usall, man and ship. " The Old Man was staring at the hulk, and his voicewas sorrowful. "Aye, but time has used her cruelly! What a pity--shewas so bonny!"

The writing guy perked up at this. "Well, you know, I see her througha layman's eyes, " he explained. "And she does look so old, and dirty, and commonplace----"

Briggs snorted, and the Captain hastened to continue, cutting off themate's hard words. "Oh, yes, she looks old and dirty--no mistake. Buttime was when no ship afloat could match her for either looks or speed. Aye, she was a beauty. Remember how she looked in the old days, Briggs?"

Briggs did. He emphatically blasted his eyes to the effect that heremembered very well the _Golden Bough_ in the days of her glory, thedays when she was no workhorse, but a double-planked racehorse of theseas, as anyone but a lubber could see she had once been, just bylooking at her. Yes, blast his eyes, he remembered her. He rememberedone time running the Easting down in the _Josiah T. Flynn_, a smartship, with a reputation, and they were cracking on as they would neverdare crack, on in these degenerate days, when, blast his eyes, the_Golden Bough_ came up on them, and passed, and ran away from the poorold _Flynn_, and Yankee Swope had stood on his poopdeck at the passing, and waved a hawser-end at the Old Man of the _Flynn_, asking if hewanted a tow. "And then we caught hell, " commented Mr. Briggs. Aye, he should say he did remember the _Golden Bough_. But he had neversailed in her. 

"And she looks commonplace enough, " continued Captain Shreve, "providing you know nothing of her history. But she does not lookcommonplace to Briggs or me. I suppose we regard her through the mistof memory--we see the tall, beautiful ship that was. We know therecord of that ship. Aye, lad, and if those sorry-looking timbersyonder could talk, you would not have to make the voyage with us inorder to get a taste of the salt. You'd get real local colorthere--you'd hear of many a wild ocean race, of smashed records, orshanghaied crews and mutinies. Yes, and you'd get, perhaps, some ofthat particular information you say you are after. Those old, brokenbulwarks yonder have looked upon life, I can tell you--and upon death. "

"The dangerous life of the sailor, I presume, " drawled the writing guy. "Falling from aloft, and being washed overboard, and all that sort ofthing. "

"Not always, " retorted Captain Shreve. "There were other ways of goingto Davy Jones in the old clipper days--and in these days, also, forthat matter. Knives, for instance, or bullets, or a pair of furioushands--if you care for violent tragedy. But I did not mean thephysical dangers of life, particularly; I meant, rather, that Fatetangles lives on board ship as queerly as in cities ashore. I meantthat the _Golden Bough_, in her day, left her mark upon a good manylives. She broke men, and made them. And once, I know, she had to dowith a woman's life, and a woman's love. There was a wedding performedupon that ship upon the high seas, and a dead man sprawled on the deckat the feet of the nuptial pair, and the bride was the dead man'swidow!"

"Oh, come now--" said the writing guy. It was plain he thought theskipper was stringing him. But I knew how difficult it was to get ourOld Man to spin a yarn, and I was determined he should not be shuntedoff on a new tack. I interrupted the author, hurriedly. "Did you evermake a voyage in the _Golden Bough_, Captain?" I asked. 

"Yes, " replied the Captain. "I was a witness to that wedding; and Iplayed my small part in bringing it about. Yes, that old wreck yonderhas had a good deal to do with my own life. I received my first boostupward in the _Golden Bough_. Shipped in the foc'sle, and ended thevoyage in the cabin. Stepped into dead man's shoes. And moreimportant than that--I won my manhood on those old decks. "

"Ah, performed some valorous deed?" purred the writing guy. 

"No; I abstained from performing an infamous deed, " said CaptainShreve. "I think that is the way most men win to manhood. "

"Oh!" said the writing guy. He seemed about to say a lot more, when Iput my oar in again. 

"Let us have the yarn, Captain, " I begged. 

Captain Shreve squinted at the sun, and then favored the passenger withone of his rare smiles. "Why, yes, " he said. "We have an idleafternoon ahead of us, and I'll gladly spin the yarn. You say, sir, you are interested in ships, and sailors, and, particularly, in 'King'Waldon's history. Well, perhaps you may find some material of use inthis tale of mine; though I fear my lack of skill in recounting it mayoffend your trained mind. 

"Yet it is simply life and living--this yarn. Human beings set downupon those decks to work out their separate destinies as Fate andcharacter directed. Aye, and their characters, and the motives thatinspired their acts, were diverse enough, heaven knows. 

"There was Swope, Black Yankee Swope, who captained that hell-ship, aman with a twisted heart, a man who delighted in evil, and worked itfor its own sake. There was Holy Joe, the shanghaied parson, whoseweak flesh scorned the torture, because of the strong, pure faith inthe man's soul. There were Blackie and Boston, their rat-heartssteeled to courage by lust of gold, their rascally, seductive tongueswelding into a dangerous unit the mob of desperate, broken stiffs whoinhabited the foc'sle. There were Lynch and Fitzgibbon, the buckos, living up to their grim code; and the Knitting Swede, that prince ofcrimps, who put most of us into the ship. There was myself, with mychildish vanity, and petty ambitions. There was the lady, thebeautiful, despairing lady aft, wife of the infamous brute who ruledus. There was Cockney, the gutless swab, whose lying words nearly hadNewman's life. And last, and chiefly, there was the man with the scar, he who called himself 'Newman, ' man of mystery, who came like thefabled knight, killed the beast who held the princess captive, and ledher out of bondage. And I helped him; and saw the shanghaied parsonmarry them, there on the bloody deck. 

"Stuff for a yarn--eh? But just life, and living. By George, it wasmighty strenuous living, too! And yet, well as I know this tale Ilived in, I am at a loss how to commence telling it. You know, sir, this is where you writing folk have at disadvantage the chaps who onlylive their stories--you see the yarn from the beginning to the end, wesee but those chapters in which Fate makes us characters. Thebeginning, the end, the plot--all are beyond our ken. If indeed thereis a beginning, or end, or plot to a story one lives. "

"Every story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end, " began thewriting guy, sonorously. "Now I----"

Just then I leaned over and placed my number nine brogan firmly uponthat writing guy's kid-clad foot, and held him in speechless agony fora moment, while Captain Shreve got his yarn fairly launched. 

CHAPTER II

Then, if I must have a beginning for the yarn (said Captain Shreve), I'll begin with that morning, in this very port of San Francisco, whenI walked out of the Shipping Commissioner's office with my first A. B. 'sdischarge in my hand, and a twelve months' pay-day jingling in mypocket. For I must explain something of my state of mind on thatmorning, so you will understand how I got Into Yankee Swope'sblood-ship. 

It was the heyday of the crimps, and I walked through the very heart ofcrimpdom, along the old East street. It is not a very prepossessingthoroughfare even to-day, when it masquerades as the Embarcadero, asinner reformed. In those days, when it was just East street, itconsisted of solid blocks of ramshackle frame buildings, that housedall the varieties of sharks and harpies who live off Jack ashore; itwas an ugly, dirty, fascinating way, a street with a garish, besottedface. But on this morning it seemed the most wonderful avenue in theworld to me. I saw East street through the colorful eyes of youth--theeyes of Romance. 

I stepped along with my chest out and my chin up-tilted. A few pacesbehind me a beachcomber wobbled along with my sea-bag on hisshoulder--for what A. B. Would demean himself with such labor onpay-day, when moochers abounded at his heel! I was looking for aboarding-house. 

But it was not the Sailors' Home. That respectable institution mightdo very well for boys, and callow ordinary seamen, but it certainlywould not do for a newly made A. B. Nor was I looking for MotherHarrison's place, as I told Mother's runner, who stuck at my elbow fora time. Mother Harrison's was known as the quietest, most orderlyhouse on the street; it might do for those quiet and orderly oldshellbacks whose blood had been chilled by age; but it would never dofor a young A. B. , a real man, who was wishful for all the mad livingthe beach afforded. No; I was looking for the Knitting Swede's. 

Knitting Swede Olson! Remember him, Briggs? A fine hole for a youngfool to seek! But I was a man, remember--a MAN--and that preciousdischarge proved it. I was nineteen years old, and manhood bears avery serious aspect at nineteen. No wonder I was holding my head inthe air. The fellows in my watch would listen to my opinions withrespect, now I was an able seaman. No longer would I scrub the foc'slefloor while the lazy beggars slept. No longer would I peggy week inand week out. I was A. B. At last; a full-fledged man! Of course, Imust straightway prove my manhood; so I was bound for the KnittingSwede's. 

Everybody knew the Knitting Swede in those days; every man Jack whoever joined a ship. They told of him in New York, and London, andCallao, and Singapore, and in every foc'sle afloat. The king ofcrimps! He sat in his barroom, in East street, placidly knitting sockswith four steel needles, and as placidly ignoring every law of God andman. He ruled the 'Frisco waterfront, did the Knitting Swede, and madehis power felt to the very ends of the seas. 

Stories about him were without number. It was the Knitting Swede whoshanghaied the corpse on board the _Tam o' Shanter_. It was theKnitting Swede who drugged the skipper of the _Sequoia_, and shippedhim in his own foc'sle. It was the Knitting Swede who sent the crowdof cowboys to sea in the _Enterprise_. It was the Knitting Swede whowas the infamous hero of quite half the dog-watch yarns. It was theKnitting Swede who was--oh, the very devil!

And it was on this very account I was bound for the Swede's house. Very simple, and sailorlike, my motive. In my mind's eye I saw a scenewhich would be enacted on board my next ship. Some fellow would askme--as some fellow always does--"And what house did you put up in, in'Frisco, Jack?" And I would take the pipe out of my mouth, and answerin a carefully careless voice, "Oh, I stopped with the Knitting Swede. "And then the whole foc'sle would look at me as one man, and there wouldbe respect in their eyes. For only very hard cases ever stopped at theKnitting Swede's. 

Well, I found the Swede's place easily enough. And he was there inperson to welcome me. I discovered his appearance to be just what thestories described--a tall, great paunched man, who bulked gigantic ashe perched on a high stool at the end of the bar, a half-knitted graysock in his hands, and an air about him of cow-like contentment. Hepossessed a mop of straw-colored hair, and a pair of little, mild, blueeyes that regarded one with all the innocence of a babe's stare. 

He suspended his knitting for a moment, gave me a fat, flabby hand, anda grin which disclosed a mouthful of yellow teeth. 

"_Ja_, you koom for a good time, and, by and by, a good ship, " says he. "Yoost trust the Swede--he treat you right. "

So he sent my bag upstairs to a room, accepted my money forsafekeeping, and I set up the drinks for the house. 

What? Give him my money for safekeeping? Of course. There was a codeof honor even in crimpdom, you know. I came to the Swede's house of myown choosing; no runner of his snared me out of a ship. Therefore Iwould be permitted to spend the last dollar of my pay-day, chiefly overhis bar, of course, and when the money was gone, he would ship me in aship of my own choosing. Unless, of course, men were exceptionallyscarce, and blood money exceptionally high. Crimpdom honor wouldn'tstand much temptation. But I was confident of my ability to look aftermyself. I was a man of nineteen, you know. 

So, at the Knitting Swede's I was lodged. I spent most of my first daythere in examining and getting acquainted with my fellow lodgers. Aye, they were a crowd, quite in keeping with the repute of the house; hardliving, hard swearing, hard fighting A. B. 's, for the most part; theunruly toughs of the five oceans. I swaggered amongst them and thoughtmyself a very devil of a fellow. I bought them drinks at the Swede'sbar, and listened with immense satisfaction to their loud comments onmy generosity. It was, "He's a fine lad, and no mistake!" and, "He's areal proper bloke, for certain!" And I ordered up the rounds, andswung my shoulders, and felt like a "real proper bloke" indeed. 

Well, I saw one chap in the house who really attracted me. I shouldliked to have chummed with him, and I went out of my way to be friendlytowards him. He was a regular giant of a man, with yellow hair andfrosty eyes, and a very white face. In fact he looked as if he mighthave recently been sick, though his huge, muscular frame showed noeffects of an illness. He had a jagged, bluish scar over one eye, which traveled up his forehead and disappeared beneath his hair, plainly the result of some terrible clout. But it was not thesethings, not his face or size which drew me to him; it was his bearing. 

All of the chaps in Swede Olson's house were hard cases. They boastedof their hardness. But their hardness was the typical tough'shardness, nine parts bravado, a savagery not difficult to subdue withan oak belaying pin in the fist of a bucko mate. But the hardness ofthis big, scar-faced man was of a different sort. You sensed, immediately you looked at him, that he possessed a steely armor ofindifference that penetrated to his very heart. He was a real hardcase, a proper nut, a fellow who simply did not care what happened. Itwas nothing he said or did, but his demeanor declared plainly he wasutterly reckless of events or consequences. It was amusing to observehow circumspectly the bullies of the house walked while in hisneighborhood. 

But I found him to be a man of silent and lonesome habit, andtemperate. He discouraged my friendly advance with a coldindifference, and my idea of chumming with him during my pay-day "bust"soon went glimmering. Yet I admired him mightily from the moment Ifirst clapped eyes upon him, and endeavored to imitate his carriage ofutter recklessness in my own strutting. 

CHAPTER III

The talk in the Swede's house was all of drink and women and ships. Iwas too young and clean to find much enjoyment in too much of the firsttwo; much liquor made me sick, and I did not find the painted Jezebelsof sailor-town attractive. But ships were my life, and I lent a readyear to the gossip about them. To tell the truth, I didn't enjoy theKnitting Swede's place very much. I did so want to be a hard case, andI guess I was a pretty hard case, but I didn't like the other hardcases. Youth likes companionship, but I didn't want to chum with thatgang, willing though most of them were that I permit them to help mespend my money. I hadn't been ashore twenty-four hours before I foundmyself wishing for a clean breeze and blue water. 

Shipping was brisk in the port, and I discovered I would have notrouble in picking my ship when my money was gone. The _Enterprise_was loading for Boston; the _Glory of the Seas_ would sail within thefortnight for the United Kingdom; there were a half-dozen other smartships wishing to be manned by smart lads. I had nothing to worryabout. I could blow my pay-day as quickly as I liked; there was nodanger of my being stranded "on the beach. "

So I spent my money, as violently as possible. I made a noise in theSwede's house, and was proud of myself. My first A. B. 's spree!

On the third evening of my "bust, " my mettle was tested. There was awoman in the Swede's house, a slim wisp of a little Jewess, with thesweet face of a Madonna and the eyes of a wanton. Well--she smiled onme. She had good reason to; was I not making my gold pieces dance amerry tune? Was I not fair game for any huntress?

But she belonged to the Swede's chief runner, his number one bouncer, as ugly a brute as ever thumped a drunken sailor. The bully objected, with a deal of obscene threatening, to my fancied raiding of hisproperty. We had it out with bare knuckles in the Swede's big backroom, with all the little tables pushed against the wall to makefighting space, and the toughest crowd in San Francisco standing by tosee fair play. I was the younger, and as hard as nails, he was softand rotten with evil living, so I thrashed him soundly enough in fiverounds. 

After he had taken the count, I turned away and commenced to pull myshirt on over my head. I heard a sharp curse, a yell of pain, and theclatter of steel upon the floor. When my head emerged, I beheld mylate antagonist slinking away before the threatening figure of the manwith the scar. The bully's right arm dangled by his side, limp andbroken, and a sheath-knife was lying on the floor, at the big man'sfeet. The sight gave me a rather sick feeling at the pit of thestomach, for I realized I had narrowly escaped being knifed. 

The scar-faced man would not listen to my thanks. He bestowed upon mea cool, bracing glance, and remarked, "You must never take your eyesoff one of that breed!" Then he resumed his seat at a table in the farcorner of the room, and quite plainly dismissed the incident from hismind. 

Indeed, the house as speedily dismissed the incident from Itscollective mind. A fist fight or a knifing was but a momentarydiversion in the Swede's place. Five minutes after he left the room, the whipped bully left the establishment, his one good hand carryinghis duffle. The Knitting Swede would have no whipped bouncer in hisemploy. 

That was a purple night for me. I was the victor, and the fruits ofthe victory were very sweet. The Jewess murmured adoring flatteries inmy ear. The others--that crowd of rough, tough men--clapped merespectfully upon the back, felt gingerly of my biceps, and sworeloudly and luridly I was the best man in the port. I agreed withthem--and set up the drinks, again and again. Oh, I was a great manthat night! The house caroused at my expense till late. 

Only my silent friend in the corner declined to take part in themerry-making. The man with the scar sat alone, drinking nothing, andregarding with cool and visible contempt the dizzy gyrations of theroughs who were swilling away the money I had worked for. But his opencontempt of them was not resented, even at the height of the orgy. They were hard cases, rough, tough fighting men, but they gave the bigfellow plenty of sea-room. No ruffling or swaggering in his direction. No gibes or practical jokes. The bludgeon-like wit of the house verycarefully passed him by. For he was so plainly a desperate man. 

"He's a bad one, " whispered the Jewess to me, lifting an eye towardsthe lonely table. "He has the house bluffed. Bet you the Swededoesn't try any of his tricks with him. He's a real bad one. Wonderwho he is?"

I openly admired the man. I'd have given my soul almost to own hismanner. The careless yet grand air of the man, the something about himthat lifted him above the rest of us--aye, he was the real hero, he wasthe sort of hard case I wanted to be. 

"I know he's a sailorman by the cut of his jib, " I said. "But he is sopale--and that scar--I guess he is just out of the hospital. Beensick, or hurt, most likely. "

The woman gave me a pitying look that set my teeth on edge. She wascontinually marveling over my innocence, and I didn't relish beinginnocent. "Just out of hospital!" she mocked. "You certainly haven'tbeen around places like this very much or you would know. "

"Know what?" I demanded. 

She shook her head, and looked serious. "No, I'll not preach, not evento you. And I like him--because he saved you. "

Next morning the Swede interrupted his knitting long enough to toss mylast ten dollars across the bar. "Ay tank you ship now?" says he. 

The huskies who were gathered about the room immediately chorused theirdisapproval. "Oh, give the poor beggar a chance!" they sang out. "Lethim rest up a spell, Swede!" But the Swede had gauged me correctly. He knew I would not want to stay on the beach after my money was spent. 

"I am ready to ship, " I told him, "but, remember this, Swede, in a shipof my own choosing. "

He grinned widely, and showed his whole mouthful of yellow teeth. Hisbaby stare rested appreciatively upon me, as though I had just crackedan excellent joke. "Oh, _ja_, you pick him yourself, " he chortled. "Mineself get you good ship, easy ship. No bucko, no hardtack, goodpay, soft time, by Yimminy!"

His mirthful humor abruptly vanished. He leaned towards me, and thelids of his little round eyes slowly lifted. It was like the liftingof curtains. For an instant I looked into the unplumbed abyss of theman's soul, and I felt the full impact of his ruthless, powerful mind. It was an astonishing revelation of character, that glance. I thinkthe Swede designed it so, for he was about to make me a momentous offer. 

"Ay ship you by easy ship, shore-going ship. No vatch, no heavyveather, good times, _ja_. You thump mine roonar, you take hisvoomans, so--you take his yob. _Ja_? You ship by the Knitting Swede?"

The eyelids drooped, and his gaze was again one of infantile innocence. His fat smooth jowls quivered, as he waited with an expectant smile formy answer. 

I'll admit I was completely bowled over for a moment. A hush hadfallen upon the room. I heard a voice behind me exclaim softly andbitterly, "Gaw' blimme, 'e's got it!" I knew the voice belonged to abig Cockney who was, himself, an avowed candidate for the runner's job. My mind was filled with confused, tingling thoughts. Oh, I was a man, right enough, to be singled out by the Knitting Swede for his chieflieutenancy. I was a hard case, a proper nut, to have that honoroffered me. For it _was_ an honor in sailordom. I thought of thefoc'sles to come, and my shipmates pointing me out most respectfully asthe fighting bloke who had been offered a chief runner's berth by theKnitting Swede. 

For I did not doubt there would be other foc'sles, and soon. Lifeashore at the Knitting Swede's was not for me. Young fool, I was, withall the conceit of my years and inches. Yet I realized clearly enoughI would only be happy with the feel of a deck beneath my feet, and thebreath of open water in my nostrils. I was of the sea, and for thesea. And if anything were needed to make my decision more certain, there was the little Jewess. She leaned close, and there was more thana hint of command in her voice. "Boy, say yes! I want you to, Boy!"

"Boy!" To me, a nineteen-year-old man, who had just been offered afighting man's berth! "I want you to, " she commanded. I saw moreclearly just what the Swede's offer meant: to spend my days in evilliving, my drugged will twisted about the slim, dishonest fingers ofthe wanton; to spend my nights carrying out whatever black rascalitythe Swede might command. An ignoble slavery. Not for me!

"I'll only ship in a proper ship, Swede, " I said, decisively. 

The Swede nodded. My refusal did not disconcert him; I think hisinsight had prepared him for it. But the tension in the room releasedwith a loud gasp of astonishment. It was unbelievable to those bulliesthat such an offer could be turned down. A sailorman refusingunlimited opportunities for getting drunk! "Gaw' strike me blind, 'earn't got the guts for hit!" a voice cried at my elbow, and I found theCockney openly sneering into my face. 

I saw through his motive immediately. Cockney wanted the job, and hewasn't going to allow the Swede to overlook his peculiar qualificationsa second time. Therefore, he would risk battle with me. 

I was nothing loath. I might turn down the job, but I would not turndown a challenge. I stepped back, and my coat was already on the floorby the time the Swede had a chance to form his words. And his wordsshowed him also cognizant of the Cockney's ruse. 

"'Vast there, Cocky! Ay give you the yob. No need to fight, and getsmashed sick. To-night I got vork--to put the crew by the _GoldenBough_!"

The Cockney's hostility melted into a satisfied smirk. He called uponhis Maker with many blasphemies while he assured the Swede he was thevery "proper blushin' bloke" for the berth. The crowd straightway lostall interest in the runnership; they had another sensation to occupythem. At the Swede's words, a low growl ran around the room, a growlwhich swelled into a chorus of imprecations. 

The Swede was going to ship the crew for the _Golden Bough_ that night!That meant he needed sailors. And every man who was in debt to theSwede, or in any way under his thumb (and I suspect every man Jack ofthem was under his thumb in some fashion or other), quaked in hisboots, and thought, "Will the Swede choose me?" For they knew ships, those men, and they knew the _Golden Bough_. Some of them had sailedin her. 

The Swede grinned jocosely at me. "How you like to ship by the _GoldenBough_! There ban easy ship, _Ja_! Plenty grub, easy vork, goodmates----"

"Yah-h-h!" One swelling, jeering shout from the whole crowd submergedthe Swede's joking reference. 

"Plenty to eat!" yelled one. "Aye, plenty o' belaying-pin soup, an'knuckle-duster hash!"

"Easy work!" sang out another. "In your watch below, which neverhappens!"

"Proper gents, the mates are, " spoke up a third. "They eats asailorman every mornin' for breakfast!"

Oh, they knew the _Golden Bough_! Who did not?

"How many, Swede?" called out a man. 

"Ay ban ship a crowd of stiffs--and some sailor-mans, " stated the Swede. 

Cursing broke out afresh. Some of them must go! The bulk of the crewwas to be crimped, of course, in the Swede knew what kennels of thetown. But a few tried sailormen must go to leaven that sodden, sea-ignorant lump. It was like condemning men to penal servitude. Nowonder they swore. And swear they did, with mouth-filling, curdlingoaths, as though in vain hope their flaming words would quite consumethat evilly known vessel. 

In the midst of that bedlam I stood thinking strange thoughts. It ishardly credible, but I was considering if I should tell the Swede Iwould ship in the _Golden Bough_. And I had heard all about the ship, too, for if the Knitting Swede was the hero of half the dog-watchyarns, the _Golden Bough_ was the heroine of the other half. I knew ofthe ship, the most notorious blood-ship afloat, and the queen of allthe speedy clippers. I knew of her captain, the black-hearted, silky-voiced Yankee Swope, who boasted he never had to pay off a crew;I knew of her two mates, Fitzgibbon and Lynch, who each boasted hecould polish off a watch single-handed, and lived up to his boast. Iknew of the famous, blood-specked passages the ship had made; of thecruel, bruising life the foremast hands led in her. And I stood beforethe Swede's bar and considered shipping. Oh, Youth!

For my thoughts were fathered by the vaulting conceit of my nineteenyears. Consider . . . A few days before I had for the first timeassumed a man's estate in sailordom. Already I was a marked man. HadI not stopped at the Knitting Swede's, and ruffled on equality with thehard cases? Had I not whipped the bully of the beach? Had I not beenoffered a fighting man's billet by the Swede, himself? Was not thatglory?

Then how much greater the glory if I spoke up with a devil-may-carelilt in my voice, and shipped in the hottest packet afloat!Glory!--why, I would be the unquestioned cock of any foc'sle Iafterward happened into. You know, in those days the ambitious younglads regularly shipped in the hot clippers; it was a postgraduatecourse in seamanship, and accomplishment of such a voyage gave one astanding with his fellows. I had intended going in one--in the_Enterprise_, or the _Glory of the Seas_, both loading in port. Butthe _Golden Bough_! No man shipped in her, sober, and unafraid. If Ishipped, I should be famous the world around as the fellow who fearedneither God, nor Devil, nor Yankee Swope and his bucko mates!

So I stood there, half wishful, half afraid, deaf to all save my ownswirling thoughts. And there happened that which gave me my decision. 

It was the man with the scar. He had been lounging against the bar, anuninterested spectator of the bestowing of the runnership. Now, myeyes fell upon him, and I saw to my surprise that he was shaken out ofhis careless humor. He was standing tensely on the balls of his feet, and his hands were gripping the bar rail so fiercely his fingers seemedwhite and bloodless. It was apparent some stern emotion wrestled him;the profile I saw was set like chiseled marble. There was somethingindescribably menacing in his poise. The sight of him jolted my earsopen to the noises of the room. 

The crowd was still talking about the _Golden Bough_. And the talk hadprogressed, as talk of the _Golden Bough_ always progressed, fromskipper and mates, to the lady. They spoke of the ship's mystery, ofthe Captain's lady. She was a character to pique a sailorman'sinterest, the Lady of the _Golden Bough_. Her fame was as wide, andmuch sweeter, than the vessel's. With all their toughs' frankness, thecrowd were discussing the lady's puzzling relations with Swope. 

"Uncommon queer, I calls it, " said one chap, who had sailed in theship. "They call 'em man an' wife, but she lives to port, an' he tostarboard. Separate cabins, dash me! I had it from the cabin boy. They even eats separate. . . . He's nasty to her--I've heard the devilsnarl at her more than once, when I've had a wheel. . . . Blank me, she's a blessed angel. There was I with a sprained wrist big as myblanked head, an' Lynch a-hazin' me to work--and every morning shetrips into the foc'sle with her bright cheer an' her linaments. Ablanked, blessed angel, she is!"

"He beats her, " supplemented another man. "I got it from a mate whatchummed with the bloke as was a Sails on her one voyage. He said, thatsailmaker did, as how Swope got drunk, and beat her. "

The big Cockney, who had been visibly possessed by a pompousself-importance since his elevation to the dignity of runner, saw fitto interpose his contrary opinion of the Lady of the _Golden Bough_. Because the man was vile, his words were vile. 

"Blimme, yer needn't worrit abaht Yankee Swope's lydy, as yer call 'er. She arn't nah bleedin' lydy--she's just a blarsted Judy. Yer got toknock a Judy abaht, arn't yer? Hi 'arve hit straight--'e picked 'erhoff the streets----"

The man with the scar wheeled on his heel, reached out, and grasped theCockney by his two wrists. I exclaimed aloud when I saw the man's fullface. There was death in it. He spoke to Cockney in a voice of coldfury. "You lie!" he cried. "Say you lie!"

Cockney was a big man, and husky. He cursed, and struggled. But hewas a child in the grasp of that white-faced giant towering over him. The hands I had seen gripping the rail a moment before, now grippedCockney's wrists in the same terrible clutch. They squeezed, as thoughto crush the very bones. Cockney squirmed, and whimpered, then hebroke down, and screamed in agony. 

"Ow, Gaw' blimme, let hup! Hi never meant northin'! A lie-- Ow, yuss--a lie! She's a proper lydy-- Hi never 'eard the hother-- Gaw'strike me blind!"

The man with the scar cast the fellow contemptuously away; and Cockneylost no time in putting the distance of the room between them. The bigman turned on the Swede, and his voice was sharp and commanding. 

"Swede, does the _Golden Bough_ sail to-morrow?"

"_Ja_, with da flood, " the Swede answered. 

"Then I ship in her, " declared the man. "I ship in the _Golden Bough_, Swede!"

It was the spark needed to fire my own resolution. What another dared, I would dare. I thumped the bar with my fist and sang out valorously, "I ship in her too, Swede!"

The Swede's needles stopped flashing in and out of the gray yarn. Heregarded us, one after the other, with his baby stare. Then he said tothe big man, "Vat if your frients ship by her?"

"I have no friends, " was the curt answer. 

The Swede leaned back on his stool, and his big belly quivered with hiswheezy laughter. "By Yimminy, Ay tank da _Golden Bough_ haf vun livelyvoyage!" he exclaimed. 

CHAPTER IV

We signed articles in the Swede's house, almost within the hour. Alittle man with a pimply, bulbous nose appeared in the house; hecarried in his person the authority of Shipping Commissioner and in hishand the articles of the _Golden Bough_. After the careless fashion ofthe day and port we signed on without further ado for a voyage to HongKong and beyond--sitting at a table in the back room, and cementing thecontract with a drink around. 

The Shipping Commissioner made the usual pretense of reading thearticles. Then he squinted up at us. 

"What's yer John Henry's?" says he. 

My big shipmate mused a moment. He stroked the scar on his forehead--ahabit he had when thinking. He smiled. 

"My name is Newman, " he made answer. "It is a good name. "

He took the pen from the Shipping Commissioner's hand and wrote thename in the proper place upon the articles. "A. Newman, " that is howhe wrote it. Not the first time he had clapped eyes upon ship'sarticles, one could see with half an eye. I wrote my own "John Shreve"below his name, with an outward flourish, but with a sinking sensationinwardly. 

As soon as the ceremony was completed, A. Newman got to his feet, refused my pressing invitation to visit the bar, and went upstairs tohis room. Now, this seemed very peculiar to my sailor's way ofthinking; it seemed more peculiar than his choice of a name. Here wewere, shipmates, together committed to a high adventure, yet the manwould not tarry by my side long enough to up-end a schooner to a fairpassage. I was to have other surprises before the day was out--themean-faced beggar, and the way in which the Knitting Swede put us onboard the _Golden Bough_. Surprising incidents. But this refusal ofmy new shipmate to drink with me was most surprising. Think of asailor, a hard case, too, moping alone in his room on the day heshipped, when downstairs he could wassail away the day. I wassurprised and resentful. It is hard for a nineteen-year-old man tostand alone, and I felt that Newman, my shipmate, should give me themoral support of his companionship. 

I strutted away the day in lonely glory. I had not the courage toviolate the hoary traditions of the foc'sle and join my ship sober, soI imbibed as steadily as my youthful stomach permitted. Towardsevening I was, as sailors say, "half seas over. "

I was mellow, but not befuddled. I saw things clearly, too clearly. Of a sudden I felt an urgent necessity to get away from the Swede'sbarroom. I wanted to breathe a bit of fresh air, I wanted to shut outfrom my mind the sights and sounds and smells of the groggery, the reekand the smut and the evil faces. Above all, I wished to escape theimportunities of the little Jewess. She had gotten upon my nerves. Oh, I was her fancy boy to-day, you bet! I was spending my advancemoney, you see, and this was her last chance at my pocketbook. 

So, when opportunity offered, I slipped away from the crowd unobserved, and went rolling along East street as though that thoroughfare belongedto me. And in truth it did. Aye, I was the chesty lad, and my stepwas high and proud, during that stroll. For men hailed me, and pointedme out. I was the rough, tough king of the beach that hour; I was thelad who had whipped the Knitting Swede's bully, and shipped in the_Golden Bough_. 

Upon a corner, some blocks from the Knitting Swede's house, I came upona fellow who was spitting blood into the gutter. He was thesorriest-looking wretch I had ever seen, the gaunt ruin of a man. Hedrew his filthy rags about him, and shivered, and prefaced his whinefor alms with a fit of coughing that seemed to make his bones rattle. 

I can't say that my heart went out to the man. It didn't. He was toounwholesome looking, and his face was mean and sly. His voice was asremarkable as anything about him; instead of speaking words, he whinedthem, through his nose it sounded like, and though his tone seemedpitched low, his whine cut through the East street uproar like a sharpknife through butter. 

Well, he was a pitiful wreck. On the rocks for good, already breakingup and going to pieces. Without thinking much about it, I emptied mypockets of their change. He pounced upon that handful of silver withthe avidity of a miser, and slobbered nasal thanks at me. I was thekindest-hearted lad he had met in many a day, he said. 

We would have gone our different ways promptly but for a flurry ofwind. I suspect that, with the money in his hand, he was as eager tosee the last of me as I was to see the last of him. But I felt ashamedof my distaste of him; it seemed heartless. And when the cold windcame swooping across from the docks, setting him shivering andcoughing, I thought of the spare pea-coat I had in my bag. It wasserviceable and warm, and I had a new one to wear. 

So I carried him back to the Swede's house with me. I did not take himinto the barroom, though he brazenly hinted he would like to stop inthere; but I feared the gibes of the boisterous gang. This bum of minewas such grotesque horror that the drunken wits of the house would not, I knew, fail to seize the chance to ridicule me upon my choice of achum. Besides it was clothes not whisky I intended giving him. 

I took him upstairs by the side entrance, the entrance to thelodging-house section of the Knitting Swede's establishment. The housewas a veritable rookery above the first floor. I lodged on the thirdfloor, in a room overlooking the street, a shabby, dirty littlecubicle, but one of the choice rooms at the Swede's disposal--for was Inot spending money in his house?

My companion's complaining whine filled the halls as we ascended thestairs. He was damning the times and the hard hearts of men. As wewalked along the hall towards my room, the door of the room next tomine opened and the big man, who signed himself Newman, looked out atus. I had not known before that he occupied this room, he was sosilent and secretive in his comings and goings. 

I hailed Newman heartily, but he gave me no response, not even a directglance. He was regarding the derelict; aye, and there was something inhis face as he looked at the man that sent a thrill through me. Therewas recognition in his look, and something else. It made me shiver. As for this fellow with me--he stopped short at first sight of Newman. He said, "Oh, my God!" and then he seemed to choke. He stumbledagainst the banisters, and clung to them for support while his kneessagged under him. He'd have run, undoubtedly, if he had had thestrength. 

"Hello, Beasley, " said Newman, in a very quiet voice. He came out ofhis room, and approached us. Then this man of mine threw a fit indeed. I never saw such fright in a man's face. He opened his mouth as If toscream, but nothing came out except a gurgle; and he lifted his arm asif to ward off an expected blow. 

But Newman made no move to strike him. He looked down at him, studyinghim, with his stern mouth cracked into a little smile (but, God'struth, there was no mirth in it) and after a moment he said, "Surprised? Eh? But no more surprised than I. "

The poor wreck got some sound out of his mouth that sounded like"How--how--" several times repeated. 

"And I wanted to meet you more than I can tell, " went on Newman. "Iwant to talk to you--about----"

The other got his tongue to working in a half-coherent fashion, thoughthe disjointed words he forced out of his mouth were just huskywhispers. "Oh, my God--you! Not me--oh, my God, not me!--him--he mademe--it was----"

No more sense than that to his agonized mumbling. And he got no morethan that out of him when he choked, and an ugly splotch of crimsonappeared upon his pale lips. His knees gave way altogether, and hecrouched there on the floor, gibbering silently at the big man, andplainly terrified clean out of his wits. 

Well, I felt out of it, so to speak. The feeling made me a littleresentful. After all, this bum was my bum. 

"Look here, the man's sick, " I said to Newman. "Don't look at him likethat--he'll die. You've half scared him to death already. "

"Oh, no; he'll not die--yet, " said Newman. "He's just a little bitsurprised at the encounter. But he's glad to see me--aren't you, Beasley? Stop that nonsense, and get up!" This last was barked at thefellow; it was a soft-voiced but imperative command. 

The command was instantly obeyed. That was Newman for you--peopledidn't argue with him, they did what he said. I'd have obeyed too, just as quickly, if he had spoken to me in that tone. There wassomething in that man, something compelling, and, besides, he had thehabit of command in his manner. 

So Beasley tottered to his feet, and stood there swaying. He found histongue, too, in sensible speech. "For God's sake, get me a drink!" hesaid. 

I was glad to seize the cue. It gave me an excuse to do something. 

"I'll get some whisky downstairs, " I sang out to Newman, as I moved forthe stairs. "Take him into my room; I'll be right back. "

But when I returned with the liquor a few moments later, I discoveredthat Newman had taken his prize into his own room. I heard the murmurof voices through the closed door. But I had rather expected this. Half seas over I might be, but I was still clear-witted enough torealize that I had accidentally brought two old acquaintances together, and that one was pleased at the meeting and the other terrified, andthat whatever was or had been between the two was none of my business. I had no intention of intruding upon them. But the fellow, Beasley, had looked so much in need of the stimulant that I ventured a knockupon the door. 

Newman opened, and I handed him the bottle without comment. I couldsee my erstwhile tow sitting upon the bed, slumped in an attitude ofcollapse. He looked so abject; his condition might have touched aharder heart than mine. But there was no softening of Newman's heart, to judge from his face; the little mirthless smile had vanished and hisfeatures were hard and set. Aye, and his manner towards me was curtenough. 

"Thank you; he needs a pick-me-up, " he said, as he took the bottle. "And now--you'll excuse us, lad. "

It wasn't a question, that last; it was a statement. Little he caredif I excused him or not. He shut the door in my face, and I heard thekey turn in the lock. 

Well, I suppose I should have been incensed by this off-hand dismissal. Oh, I was no meek and humble specimen; my temper was only too touchy, and besides there was my reputation as a hard case to look to. Butstrangely enough I did not become incensed; I never thought of kickingdown the door, I never thought of harboring a grudge. It wasn't fearof the big man, either. It was--well, that was Newman. He could do athing like that, and get away with it. 

The carousing gang downstairs was more than ever distasteful to me. Iwent into my own room and lay down upon the bed. The liquor that wasin me made me a bit drowsy, and I rather relished the thought of a nap. 

But I discovered I was likely to be cheated of even the nap by my nextdoor neighbors. The walls in the Swede's house were poor barriers tosounds, and lying there on the bed I suddenly found myself overhearinga considerable part of the conversation in the next room. Newman'sdeep voice was a mere rumble, a menacing rumble, with the wordsundistinguishable, but the beggar's disagreeable whine carried throughthe partition so distinctly I could not help overhearing nearly everyword he said. I didn't try to eavesdrop; at the time Beasley's wordshad little interest or meaning for me. But afterwards, on the ship, Ihad reason to ponder over what he said. 

The burden of his speech was to the effect that somebody referred to as"he" was to blame. Aye, trust a rat of that caliber to set up thatwail. For some time that was all I got from the words that camethrough the wall. I wasn't trying to listen; I was drowsing, andpaying very little attention. 

But gradually Beasley's whine grew louder and more distinct. I supposethe whisky was oiling his tongue. Once he cried out sharply, "ForGod's sake, don't look at me like that! I'm telling the truth, I swearI am!" The scrape of a chair followed this outburst, and when thewhine began again it was closer to the wall, and more distinct thanever. 

"I didn't want to, but he made me. I had to look out for myself, hadn't I? I had to do what he said. He had this paper of mine--heknew they were forgeries--I had to do what he said. But, my God, Ididn't know what he was planning--I swear I didn't!"

Newman's rumble broke in, and then the voluble, reedy voice continued, "But he was wild when he came home and found you and Mary so thick, andeverybody just waiting for the announcement that it was a match. Why, he had the whole thing planned, the very day he arrived. I know hehad, because he came to me, in the tavern, and told me I was to drophints here and there through the village that you and Beulah Twigg hadbeen seen together in Boston. I didn't want to, but I had to obey him. Why, those checks--he could have put me in prison. My father would nothave helped me. You remember my father--he was ready to throw me outanyway. He never could make allowances for a young fellow's fun. 

"He had others dropping hints around. Trust him to handle a job likethat. He was your friend, and Mary's friend--your very best friend, and all the time the tongues were wagging behind your back. Why, itwas the talk of the town. You and Beulah Twigg, together in Boston;you and Beulah together at sea; you and Beulah--well, you know what astory they would make of it in a little town like Freeport. Mary musthave heard the gossip about you; the women would tell her. 

"But it didn't seem to have any effect. The two of you were as thickas ever. We were laying bets in the tavern that you would be marriedbefore you went to sea again. He didn't like that--the talk about yourwedding. But he wasn't beaten yet; he was just preparing his ground. Oh, he was a slick devil!

"He came to me one day and said, 'Beasley, give me the key to the OldPlace--and keep your mouth shut and stay away from there. '

"Now you begin to understand? The Old Place--that tumble-down old ruinof a house all alone out there on the cliffs. It belonged to myfather, you remember, but it hadn't been lived in for years. I had akey because we young bloods used the place for card-playing, and highjinks. 

"I gave him the key. Why not? It was a small matter. He went off toBoston--business trip, he said. I could make a good guess at thenature of the business. Didn't I know his ways? But I wouldn't blab;he owned me body and soul. I was afraid of him. His soft voice, hisslick ways, and what he could do to me if I didn't obey!

"He brought Beulah Twigg back with him from Boston. Now youunderstand? Little Beulah--pretty face, empty head, too much heart. He owned her body and soul, too. When folks wondered where she had runoff to, I could have told them. I knew how he'd played with her, onthe quiet, while he sparked Mary in the open--last time he was home. You were home then, also. Remember, you left a day ahead of him, tojoin your ship in New York? A China voyage, wasn't it? Well--Beulahleft the same day. Just disappeared. And poor old Twigg couldn'tunderstand it. You remember the old fool? Beulah was all the familyhe had, and after she skipped out he got to drinking. They found himone morning at the bottom of the cliffs, not a hundred yards from thespot where they afterwards found her. 

"But I knew what had become of Beulah. I guessed right. Didn't I knowhis ways with the girls? You know there weren't many women who couldstand out against him. Mary could, and did--that's why he was so wildagainst you. But little Beulah--she threw herself at him. And whenshe ran away, it was to join him in Philadelphia, and go sailing withhim to South America. 

"Now you know how he turned the trick on you, don't you? But--don'tlook at me like that! I didn't know what he was doing, I swear Ididn't! I thought he just wanted his sweetheart near him, or that sheinsisted on coming, or something like that. I thought it was devilishbold of him, bringing the girl where everybody knew her. But then, hereally wasn't taking such a chance, because nobody ever went near theOld Place, except upon my invitation, and he drove her over from thenext township in the night, and she didn't come near the village. Iknew, but he knew I wouldn't blab. My God, no!

"Well, he came to me the next day after he got back from Boston. 'Iask a favor of you, ' he said to me. Yes--asking favors, when he knew Imust do what he said. Smiling and purring--you remember the pleasantmanner he had. 'Just a short note. I know you are handy with thepen, ' he said. 

"What could I do? I had to look out for myself. He gave me a pagefrom an old letter as a sample of the handwriting. It was MaryBarntree's writing; oh, I knew it well. I had it perfect in a fewminutes. You know--I had a rare trick with the pen in thosedays--before this cough got me, and my hand got shaky. The note Iwrote for him was a mere line. 'Meet me at Beasley's Old Place atthree, ' with her initial signed. That was all. But he had a sheet ofher own special note paper for me to write on (no, I don't know wherehe got it!) and of course he knew--like we all knew--how fond the twoof you were of lovers' walks out on the cliffs. 

"Do you remember how you got that note? Oh, he was a slick devil. Hethought of everything. Abel Horn brought it to you--remember? He toldyou, with a wink and a grin, that it was from a lady--but he didn't saywhat lady. Remember? Well, Beulah had given him the note, and toldhim to say that--not to mention names. Abel was a good fellow; hewouldn't gossip. _He_ knew that. 

"That wasn't the only note he had written. He made Beulah write one, too, addressed to Mary, and asking her to come to the Old Place, and besecret about it. Ah, now you understand? But--I swear I didn't knowwhat he was leading up to. No, I didn't. I thought it was--well, all's fair in love, you know. And I had to do what he said, I had to!

"Poor little Beulah had to do what he said, too. I only feared him, but she loved and feared him both. He owned her completely. He hadmade her into a regular echo of himself. She didn't want to, she criedabout it, but she had to do what he said. 

"Mary came, as he knew she would. Didn't she have the kindest heart inthe country? And there he was, with Beulah, with his eyes on her, andhis soft, sly words making her lie seem more true. I heard it all. Iwas upstairs. He placed me there, in case Mary didn't believe; then Iwas to come in and tell about seeing you and Beulah together in Boston, and how she begged me to bring her home. But--for God's sake!--Ididn't do it. I didn't have to. Mary believed. How could she helpbelieving--the gossip, and poor little Beulah sobbing out her story. Beulah said it was you who got the best of her. She didn't want to sayit, she faltered and choked on the lie, but _his_ eyes were on her, andhis voice urged her, and so she had to say it. The very way shecarried on made the lie seem true. 

"Well, Mary did just what he expected her to do. She promised to helpBeulah; she told Beulah she would make you make amends. Then sherushed out of the house and met you coming along the cliff road--comingalong all spruced up, and with the look about you of one going to meeta lady. Just as _he_ planned. 

"What more could Mary ask in the way of evidence than the sight of youin that place at that time? Of course she was convinced, completelyconvinced. And she behaved just as he knew she would behave--shedenounced you, and threw your ring in your face, and raced off home. And you behaved just as he knew you would behave. He was a slickdevil! He knew your pride and temper; he counted on them. He knew youwould be too proud to chase Mary down and demand a full explanation;that you would be too angry to sift the thing to the bottom. Youpacked up and went off to New York that night to join your ship--andthat was just what he wanted you to do. 

"Next morning you were gone, and--they picked up little Beulah at thebottom of the cliffs. And you gone in haste, without a word. Theysaid she jumped--desertion, despair, you know what they would make ofit. The gossip--and Abel Horn's tale--and you running away to sea. 

"And I--my flesh would creep when I looked at him. I was certainshe--didn't jump. I tell you he was a devil. There wasn't anything hewouldn't do. He didn't have such a feeling as mercy. Didn't I find itout? He wanted to get rid of me--and he did. Before the week was out;before Beulah was fairly buried, before Mary was outdoors again. Heshowed those checks I had signed--and I had to go, I had to go far andin a hurry. After all I had done for him, that's the way he treatedme. "

There was a movement of chairs in the next room, and a scraping offeet. There was more talk, Newman's heavy murmur, and respondingwhines. But I do not remember what else was said. In fact, although Ihave given you Beasley's tale in straight-forward fashion, I did notoverhear it as I tell it. I caught it in snatches, so to speak, ratherdisconnected snatches which I pieced together afterwards. I heard thisfellow, Beasley, talk while lying drowsing on the bed, and not tryingparticularly to understand his words. In fact, I did drop off tosleep. First thing I knew, the Knitting Swede was shaking me awake. "Yump out of it, Yackie, " says he. "We go aboard. "

I turned out, shouldered my sea-bag, and went downstairs. There wasNewman, with his dunnage, waiting. He was alone. There was no sign ofmy beggar about. In fact, I never saw him again. Newman's face didn'tinvite questions. 

As a matter of fact, I didn't even think of asking him questions. Ihad forgotten Beasley; I was worrying about myself. Now that the hourhad come to join the ship, I wasn't feeling quite so carefree andchesty. I went into the bar, and poured Dutch courage into myself, until the Knitting Swede was ready to leave. 

We rode down to the dock in a hack. I was considerably elated when thevehicle drew up before the door; It is not every sailorman who ridesdown to the dock in a hack, you bet! The Swede was spreading himselfto give us a grand send-off, I thought! But I changed my mind when westarted. The hack was on Newman's account, solely; and he made a quickdash from the door to its shelter, with his face concealed by cap andpea-coat collar. He didn't want to be seen in the streets--that is whywe rode in the hack!

The ride was made amidst a silence that proved to be a wet blanket toall my attempts to be jovial, and light-hearted and devil-may-care. The Swede slumped in one seat, with our dunnage piled by his side, wheezing profanely as the lurching of the hack over the cobblestonesjolted the sea-bags against him, and grunting at my efforts to makeconversation. Newman sat by my side. Once he spoke. 

"You are sure the lady sails, Swede?" was what he said. 

"_Ja_, I have it vrom Swope, himself, " the crimp replied. 

Now, of course, I had already reasoned it out that Newman was sailingin the _Golden Bough_ because of the lady aft, and that he had onceowned some other name than "Newman. " That was as plain as the nose onmy face. I didn't bother my head about it; the man's reasons were hisown, and foc'sle custom said that a shipmate should be judged by hisacts, not by his past, or his motives. But I did bother my head abouthis question in the hack--or rather about the Swede's manner ofreplying to it. It was a little thing, but very noticeable to a sailor. 

The Swede's manner towards me was one of genial condescension, like afather towards an indulged child. This was a proper bearing for apowerful crimp to adopt towards a foremost hand. But the Swede'smanner towards Newman was different. There was respect in it, asthough he were talking to some skipper. It considerably increased thefeeling of awe I was beginning to have for my stern shipmate. 

I supposed we would join the rest of the crew at the dock, and go onboard in orthodox fashion, on a tug, with drugged and drunken men lyingaround, to be met at the rail by the mates, and dressed down into thefoc'sle. Such was the custom of the port. But when we alighted atMeigg's Wharf not a sailor or runner was in sight. A regiment ofroosting gulls was in lonely possession of the planking. The hackrattled away; the Swede, bidding us gather up our dunnage and followhim, waddled to the wharf edge, and disappeared over the string-piece. 

"Why, where is the crew?" I asked of Newman. "You and I, alone, aren'tgoing to sail the ruddy packet?"

"They'll follow later, " replied Newman. "The Swede is going to put ustwo aboard. He's getting the boat free now. "

I stopped stock still. The constant surprises were rapidly shocking mesober, and this last one fairly took my breath for a moment. The Swedewas putting us on board!

Now, the King of Crimps didn't put sailormen on board. He hiredrunners to oversee the disposal of the slaves. The most he did waslounge in the sternsheets of his Whitehall while his retainers rowedhim out to a ship to interview the captain, and collect his bloodmoney. It was unusual for the Swede to go down to the dock with acouple of men; and now, he was going to fasten his lordly hands upon apair of oars and row us out to our vessel!

"Say, what is the idea?" I demanded of Newman. "We are no flamingdukes to be coddled this way!"

Newman placed his hand upon my shoulders. "What say you call it off, lad?" he said. "That hell-ship yonder is no proper berth for you. Take my advice, and dodge around the corner with your bag. I can fixit with the Swede, all right. "

I should have liked to have taken the advice, I admit. I was not innearly such a vainglorious mood as I had been back in the Swede'sbarroom, with the waterfront applauding me. If Newman had offered tododge around the corner with me, I'd have gone. The aspect of thatempty wharf was depressing, and there was something sinister about allthese unusual circumstances surrounding our joining the ship. I beganto feel that there was something wrong about the _Golden Bough_ besidesher bucko mates, and I possessed the superstitions of my kind. ButNewman did not offer to dodge around the corner with me. He was merelyadvising me, in a fatherly, pitying fashion that my nineteen-year-oldmanhood could not stomach. 

"I shipped in her, and I'll sail in her, " I told him, shortly. "I canstand as much hell as any man, and I'd join her if I had to swim forit. That flaming packet can't scare me away; I'll take a pay-day fromher, yet!" I was bound I'd live up to my reputation as a hard case! Iwas letting Newman know I was just as proper a nut as himself. 

The Swede hailed us from the darkness beyond. We reached the wharfedge, and dimly made out the Swede's huge bulk squatting in a Whitehallboat below. "Yump in!" he bade us. We tossed our bags down, followedourselves, and a moment later I was bidding farewell to the beach. 

The Swede lay back manfully on the oars, grunting with every stroke. He was expert; he seemed to make nothing of the inrushing tide, andquickly ferried us out into the fairway. Newman and I sat together inthe sternsheets, each wrapped in his mantle of dignified silence. Ikept my eyes on the black bulk of the vessel we were rapidly nearing, and I confess my thoughts were not very cheerful. One needed jollycompanions, and more drink inside than I had, to have cheerful thoughtswhen joining the _Golden Bough_. 

The Swede lay on his oars when we were a few hundred yards from theship, allowing us to drift down with the tide. He fumbled about hisclothes for a moment, and produced a bottle. "Here, yoongstar, youtake a yolt!" he commanded, passing me the bottle. 

I thought he was just bolstering up my courage, and I was grateful. Iswallowed a great gulp of the fiery stuff. It was good liquor, andpossessed an added flavor to which I was stranger. 

I passed the bottle to Newman; he accepted it, but I noticed he did notdrink. 

The Swede lifted up his voice and hailed the ship. Immediately, themost magnificent fore-topsail-yard-ahoy voice I had ever heard belloweda reply, "Ahoy, the boat! What d'ye want?"

"That ban Lynch, " remarked the Swede to us. Then he called in reply. "Ay ban Swede Olson with two hands for you! Heave over da Yacob'sladder, Mistar Lynch!" He lay back on his oars, and shot us under thequarter. 

A moment later the three of us were standing on the clipper maindeck, confronting a large man who inspected us with the aid of a lantern. Afterwards, I discovered Mister Second Mate Lynch to be a handsome, muscular chap, with not so much of the "bucko" in his bearing as hisreputation led one to expect. But at the moment I was impressed onlyby his big body and stern face. In truth, even that impression washazy, for the drink I had taken from the Swede's bottle a moment beforeproved to be surprisingly potent. No sooner did I set foot upon thedeck than I commenced to feel a heavy languor overcoming my body andmind. 

Lynch turned, and his voice rumbled into the lighted cabin alleyway. "Oh, Fitz, come here. Those two jaspers we heard of have come aboard. "

A moment later a man came from the cabin and stood by Lynch's side. Here was a true bucko, even my addled wits sensed that. A humangorilla, with a battered face and brutal, pitiless mouth--the dreadedFitzgibbon, "chief kicker" of the _Golden Bough_. 

Mister "Fitz" regarded us with a sneering smile. "_Huh_, stewed to thegills! What did you dope 'em with, Swede?" he said. Then he added toLynch, "Good beef, though. They'll pull their weight. Hope there aremore like them. " He gave his regard to me, looked me up and downslowly, and then turned his eyes on Newman. "Shipped themselves, didthey? Two jumps ahead o' the police, I bet! Lord, what a cargo he'sgot aboard!"

This last referred to Newman. I was staring at him, myself, withstupid surprise, his peculiar antics aiding me to retain a slenderclutch on my senses. 

For Newman was drunk, rip-roaring drunk. Now mind, he had been coldsober a few moments before when I handed him the Swede's bottle, and Iwas quite certain he had not touched that bottle to his lips. He cameover the rail with the bottle clutched in his hand, and as soon as hetouched the deck he was as pickled as any sailor who ever joined aship. He hung his head, and lurched unsteadily from foot to foot, mumbling to himself. Suddenly he brandished the bottle, and commencedto howl, "Blow the Man Down, " in a raucous voice. 

"Stow that!" commanded Lynch, shortly. "You'll wake up the lady!"

Newman shut up. "Vas da lady on board?" asked the Swede, respectfully. 

"Yes, and if that jasper rouses her, I'll shove a pin down his gullet!"answered Lynch. "Here you two, " he commanded us, "gather up yourdunnage and get for'rd!"

Newman and I grappled laboriously with our bags. Fitzgibbon spoke tothe Swede. "When does the crew come off?"

"Flood tide, " answered the Swede. "Captain Swope comes with them. AndI send a port gang to get you oondar way. "

"Hope there are some more huskies like these two, " said Lynch. 

"_Ja_, day ban all able seamans, " declared the Swede. 

"You're a filthy liar!" I heard Lynch comment. But further words Ilost, for Newman and I went stumbling forward to the forecastle. 

We dumped our bags upon the floor, and Newman lighted the lamp. Myknees gave way, and I sat down upon the bench that ran around besidethe tiers of empty bunks. Then, when the flickering light revealed mycompanion's face, I felt another shock of surprise. 

For Newman was sober again. As soon as he was out of sight of thegroup on the after deck, he dropped his inebriety like a mantle. Theface I looked into was alert and hard set, and the eyes gleamedstrangely as though the man were laboring under a strong, repressedexcitement. Newman wore an air of triumph, as though he had justaccomplished a difficult victory. My tongue had suddenly become verythick, but I managed to mumble a query. "Say, matey, what's the game?"

He regarded me sharply. "What's the matter with you, lad?" heexclaimed. He leaned over, pressed up one of my eyelids, and lookedinto my eye. Then he tilted the bottle he still carried, and wettedhis laps with the liquor. "That . . . Swede! He drugged this bottle!Bound to get the blood money for you!"

I didn't answer. I couldn't, for while Newman was speaking, awonderful thing happened. He suddenly dwindled in size until he was nolarger than a manikin, going through the motion of drinking from a tinybottle; while in contrast, his voice increased so tremendously involume it broke upon my ears like a surf upon a beach. I couldn'tgrasp the miracle. 

". . . Well, not enough to hurt . . . All right tomorrow . . . " Newmanboomed. Then he picked me up in his arms and deposited me in a bunk. He got a blanket out of my bag and spread it over me. I foundsomething very comical about this, though I couldn't laugh as I wished. One hard case tucking in another hard case, like a mother tucks in herchild!

The last thing I saw, or thought I saw, ere oblivion overcrept me, wasNewman's manikin-sized figure stretching out in a manikin-sized bunkopposite. 

CHAPTER V

My head ached, my tongue was thick and wood-tastey, but I awoke in fullpossession of my faculties. Even in the brief instant between theawakening and the eye-opening, I sensed what was about. 

The motion told me the ship was under way. The noises that hadprobably aroused me, boomed commands, stormed curses, groans, sounds ofblows, feet stamping--all told me that the mates were turning to thecrew. I sat up and looked around. 

It had been dark night, and the foc'sle empty, when Newman had tuckedme in for my drugged siesta. Now it was broad day, and a bright streakof sunlight streaming into the dirty hole through the open door showedmen's forms sprawled in the bunks about me. 

The _Golden Bough_ had a topgallant foc'sle, the port and starboardsides divided by a partition that reached not quite to the deck above, and which contained a connecting door. Newman and I had stumbled intothe port foc'sle the previous night, and as I sat up, I discovered thatthe babel of sound came from the starboard side of the partition. Iswung up into the bunk above my head, raised my eyes above thepartition, and looked down. 

I saw Mister Lynch, the second mate, standing in the middle of thestarboard foc'sle's floor. He was turning to the crew with avengeance. His method was simple, effective, but rather ungentle. Hislong arm would dart into a bunk where lay huddled a formless heap ofrags. This heap of rags, yanked bodily out of bed, would resolveitself into a limp and drunken man. Then Mister Lynch would commenceto eject life into the sodden lump, working scientifically anddispassionately, and bellowing the while ferocious oaths in thevictim's ear. 

"Out on deck with you!" he would cry, shaking the limp bundle much as adog would shake a rat. A sharp clout on either jaw would elicit aprofane protest from the patient. The toe of his heavy boot, sharplyapplied where it would do the most good, would produce furtherevidences of life. Then Lynch would take firm grasp of the scruff ofthe neck and seat of the breeches, and hurl the resurrected one throughthe door onto the deck, and out of range of my vision. A waspish voicestreaming blistering oaths proved that Mister Fitzgibbon was welcomingeach as he emerged into daylight. Another voice, melodiouslypenetrating the uproar, proved another man was watching the crew turnto. I recognized the silky, musical voice of Yankee Swope. "Stir themup, Mister! Make them jump! My ship is no hotel!" is what it said. 

The second mate boosted the starboard foc'sle's last occupantdeckwards; then he paused a moment for a breathing spell. Next, hisroving eye rested upon my face blinking down at him from the top of thewall. 

"Oh, ho--so you have come to life, have you!" he addressed me. "TheSwede said you would be dead until afternoon!"

He stepped through the connecting door, into my side of the foc'sle, and looked about. I leaped down from the upper bunk and stood beforehim, feeling rather sheepish at having been discovered spying. 

"Where is that big jasper who came aboard with you?" he suddenlydemanded of me. 

"Why;--there!" I replied promptly, indicating the bunk opposite the onein which I had slept. 

Then, I became aware that Newman was not in that bunk; and a rapidsurvey of the foc'sle showed he was not in any bunk. He was gone, though his sea-bag was still lying on the floor. The bunk I thought hewas in contained an occupant of very different aspect from my grimcompanion of the night before. 

A short, spare man of some thirty years, wearing an old red flannelshirt, was stretched out upon the bare bunk-boards. Lynch and Icontemplated him in silence for a moment. 

He was no beachcomber or sailor, one could tell that at a glance. Hisskin had no tan upon it. It was white and soft. Obviously, he was noinhabitant of the underworld of forecastles and waterside groggeries. His white face looked intelligent and forceful even in unconsciousness. 

In some way, the man had come by a wicked blow upon the head. It wasthe cause, I suspected, of his swoon, and stertorous breathing. Driedblood was plastered on the boards about his head, and his thick, darkhair was clotted and matted with the flow from his wound. 

Lynch leaned over, and opened one of the fellow's loosely clenchedhands. It was as white and soft as a lady's hand. 

"This jasper is no bum--or sailor!" declared Lynch. "That damn Swede'sbeen up to some o' his tricks. Well--we'll make a sailor of him beforewe fetch China Sea, I reckon!" He straightened, and turned on me withanother demand for Newman. "Where did you say that big jasper was?"

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I could have sworn Newman hadturned into that bunk; and I told him so. 

Lynch snorted. "Didn't have the guts to face the music, I reckon, andcleared out! Well, if he tried to swim for it, I'll bet he's feedingfishes now!" His eyes roved around the room. Several of the bunkswere occupied by nondescript figures, but Newman's huge bulk did notappear. "Damned seedy bunch, " commented Lynch. "Couldn't afford tolose good beef. Hello--who's this?"

His eyes rested upon the bunk farthest forward, athwartship bunk in theeyes. The body of a big man lying therein loomed indistinctly in thegloom of the corner. Lynch reached the bunk with a bound, and I wasclose behind. 

But it was not Newman. It was--the Cockney! The very man to whom theSwede had tendered the runner's job, the man Newman had manhandled! Helay on his back, snoring loudly, his bloated, unlovely face upturned tous. 

I laughed. "It's the runner, " I said. "The Swede's first runner. Swede gave him the job yesterday. "

"And gave him a swig out of the black bottle last night!" commentedLynch. Then he grasped the significance of the Swede's double cross, and his laughter joined mine. "_Ho, ho_--shanghaied his own runner!_Ho, ho_ . . . That damned Swede!"

Then it evidently struck Mister Lynch that he was conducting himselfwith unseemly levity in company with a foremast hand. His face becamestern, his voice hard, and my moment of grace was ended. 

"Turn to!" he commanded me. "What are you standing about for? Get outon deck, before I boot you out!"

I knew my place, and I obeyed with alacrity. As I reached the door, his voice held me again for a moment. 

"I guess you are a smart lad, " says he. "I'll pick you for my watch, if Fitz doesn't get ahead of me. Got your nerve--shipping in thispacket! If you know your work, and fly about it, you'll be all right. Otherwise, God help you!"

CHAPTER VI

During my brief communion with Lynch in the foc'sle, I had, of course, been conscious of ship work proceeding on deck. I had been deafotherwise, what with the mate's obscene, shrill voice ringing throughthe ship, and the rattle of blocks, the cries of men, and the tramp oftheir feet as they pulled together. Now, as I stepped from the foc'sleinto the bright daylight, I saw just what work was doing. 

The vessel was aback on the main, her way lost for the moment. Abeam, a tug was puffing away from us, carrying the port crew--who had liftedanchor and taken the _Golden Bough_ to sea--back to San Francisco. Andwe were fairly to sea; the rugged coast of Marin was miles astern, andthe Golden Gate was lost in a distant haze. The voyage was begun. 

I saw this at a glance, out of the corners of my eyes, as I ran aft tojoin the crowd. For I was minded to take the second mate's advice, andfly about my work in the _Golden Bough_. To wait for an order, was, Iknew well enough, to wait for a blow. The crowd were already at thelee braces, commencing to trim up the yards, and I tailed onto the lineand threw in my weight, thanking my lucky star that Mister Fitzgibbonwas too busied with the weather braces to accord my advent on deck anyother reception than a sizzling oath. 

We got the ship under wary, and then jumped to other work. MisterLynch had flung several more sick, frightened wretches out of thefoc'sle, and now he joined with the mate in forcible encouragement ofour efforts. The port gang had hoisted the yards, and loosed thesails, but the upper canvas was ill sheeted, and soon we werepully-hauling for dear life. 

The best of ships is a madhouse the first day at sea, but the _GoldenBough_--God! she was madhouse and purgatory rolled into one! My ownagility and knowledge saved me from ill usage for the moment, since themates had plenty of ignorant, clumsy material to work upon. Suchmaterial! I never before or after saw such a welter of human misery ason that bright morning, such a crowd of sick, suffering, terrified men. Most of them knew not one rope from another, some of them knew not aword of English, half of them were still drunk, and stumbled and fellas they were driven about, the other half were seasick and all buthelpless. Oh, they caught it, I tell you! The mates were merciless, as their reputations declared them to be. It was sing out an order, then knock a man down, jerk him to his feet, thrust a line into hishands, and kick him until he bent his weight upon it. It was bitterdriving. But I'll admit it brought order out of chaos. We cleared thedecks of the first-day-out hurrah's nest in jig time. Mercifully, itwas fair weather, with a light, steady, fair breeze. 

I found myself working shoulder to shoulder with a big, trim-bodiedmulatto. He was a sailorman, I saw at a glance, and we stuck togetheras much as possible during the morning. He already bore Fitzgibbon'smark in the shape of a raw gash on his forehead, and his blood-speckedeyes were hot with mingled rage and terror. He murmured over and overagain to me, as though obsessed by the words, "Does yoh know where yoham, mate? Lawd--de _Golden Bough_! de _Golden Bough_!"

There came an ominous flapping of canvas aloft. "He done gib her toomuch wheel!" said the mulatto to me. "Lawd help him!"

The black-bearded man who had been lounging over the poop rail watchingus work, and at whom I had been casting curious and fearful glances asI rushed about beneath his arctic glare, now swung about and damned thehelmsman's eye with soft voiced, deadly words. The mates' voicesdropped low, and we listened to Yankee Swope's storm of venomous curseswith bated breath. 

As a man curses so he is. I learned that truth that morning, a truthamply tested by the days that came after. It was like a book pagebefore my eyes, revealing the different characters of the three men whoruled our world, by comparison of their oaths. 

Now Lynch swore robustious oaths in a hearty voice. They enlivenedyour legs and arms, for you sensed there was a blow behind the words ifyou lagged. But they did not rasp your soul. You knew there was nopersonal application to them. They were the oaths of a bluff, hard manwho would drive you mercilessly, but who would none the less respectyour manhood. They were the oaths of the boss to the man, and theybespoke force. 

Fitzgibbon's swearing always sounded dirty. His curses fell about youlike a vile shower, and aroused your hot resentment; the same wordsthat came clean from Lynch's lips, sounded vile from Fitzgibbon, because the man, himself, was bad through and through. His oaths werethe oaths of a slave-driver to the slave, and they bespoke cruelty. 

But the curses of Captain Swope! God keep me from ever hearing theirlike again. They sounded worse than harsh, or vile, they soundedinhuman. The words came soft and melodious from his lips, but theywere forked with poison and viciousness. As we of the foc'sle listenedto him curse the helmsman, that first morning out, each man felt fear'sicy finger touch the pit of his stomach. The captain's words horrifiedus, they sounded so utterly evil, and foretold so plainly the sufferingthat was to come to us. 

He suddenly cut short his cursing, and turning, caught sight of us, menand mates, standing idle by the main fife rail. "What's this, Misters?" he sang out. "Going asleep on the job? Rush thosedogs--rush them! And send a man aft to the wheel--a sailorman! Thisdamned Dutchman does not know how to steer!"

Those evenly spoken words aroused us to a very frenzy of effort. Fitzgibbon struck out blindly at the man nearest him, and commenced tocurse us in a steady stream. Lynch reached out and dragged me awayfrom the line on which I was heaving. "Aft with you!" he ordered me. "Take the wheel--lively, now!"

Lively it was. I ran along the lee deck towards the poop, my bellygriped by the knowledge that the black-bearded man was watching myprogress. Nineteen-year-old man I might be, able seaman and hard case, but I'll admit I was afraid. I was afraid of that sinister figure onthe poop, afraid of the soft voice that cursed so horribly. 

It was a little squarehead who had the wheel. A young Scandinavian, anundersized, scrawny boy. He was pallid, and glazy-eyed with terror, aswell he might be after facing the Old Man's tirade, and when I took thespokes from his nerveless grasp he had not sufficient wit left to giveme the course. Indeed, he had not much chance to speak, for CaptainSwope had followed me aft, and as soon as I had the wheel he commencedon the luckless youth. 

"You didn't watch her, did you? Now I'll show you what happens in myship when a man goes to sleep on his job!" he purred. _Purred_--aye, that is the word. Through his beard I could see the tip of his tonguerimming his lips, as he contemplated the frightened boy, much like acat contemplating a choice morsel about to be devoured; and there was abeam of satisfaction in his eye. Oh, it was very evident that YankeeSwope was about to enjoy himself. 

The poor squarehead cowered backward, and Swope stepped forward anddrove his clenched list into the boy's face, smashing him against thecabin skylights. The boy cried out with pain and fear, the bloodgushing from his nose, and, placing his hands over his face, he triedto escape by running forward. Swope, the devil, ran beside him, showering blows upon his unprotected head, and as they reached thebreak of the poop he knocked the boy down. Then he gave him the boots, commenced to kick him heavily about the body, while the boy squirmed, and pleaded in agonized, broken English for mercy. It was a brutal, revolting exhibition. I was an untamed forecastle savage, myself, usedto cruelty, and regarding it as natural and inevitable, but as I stoodthere at the wheel and, watched Yankee Swope manhandle that boy Ibecame sick with disgust and rage. Aye, and with fear, for what washappening to the squarehead might well happen to me!

The boy ceased to squirm under the impact of the boots, and his painedcries were silenced. Then the captain ceased his kicking, though hedid not cease the silky-toned evil curses that slid from his lips. Heleaned over the bruised, insensible form, grasped the clothes, andheaved the boy clear off the poop, much as one might heave aside a sackof rubbish. So the little squarehead vanished from my ken for the timebeing, though I heard the thud of his body striking the deck below. 

Swope stood looking down at his handiwork for a moment; then he swungabout and came aft, brushing invisible dirt from his clothes as hewalked. When he drew near, I saw his eyes were bright with joyousexcitement; yes, by heaven, Captain Swope was happy because of the workhe had just done; he was a man who found pleasure in inflicting painupon others! He paused at my side, glanced sharply at me, then aloftat the highest weather leech, for I was steering full and by. But hefound no cause for offense, and after damning my eye to be careful, heturned away and commenced pacing up and down. I was in a furious rageagainst the man. But when he looked at me my knees felt weak, and Ianswered his words respectfully and meekly indeed. God's truth, I wasafraid of him!

Oh, it was not his size. Yankee Swope was only of medium build; I wasmuch the better man physically, and could have wiped the deck with himin short order--though, of course, a quick death would have rewardedany such attempt upon the master of the _Golden Bough_. Nor was hisface ill to look at. Indeed, he had a handsome face, though beard andmustache covered half of it, and there was a peculiar and disturbingglitter in his black eyes. Some of my fear was caused, I think, by thesinister softness of his voice. But most of it was caused by theimpression the man, himself, gave--call it personality, if you like. It was much like the impression of utter recklessness that Newman gave, only in Yankee Swope's case it was not recklessness, but utterwickedness. An aura of evil seemed to cling about him, he walked aboutin an atmosphere of black iniquity that was horrifying. Any foremasthand would look after Yankee Swope and say, "There--he's sold his soulto the Devil! He's a bad one, a real bad one, and no mistake!"

So I looked after him, and thought, while he paced the poop, and I heldthe wheel. "You're in for it, Shreve!" I thought. "This packet is sohot she sizzles, and this Old Man is a bad egg, and no fatal error!There will be bloody, sudden death before this passage is ended, or I'ma ruddy soldier!"

Standing there at the wheel, with one eye upon Captain Swope and theother upon my work, I found I owned a full measure of rueful thoughts. The _Golden Bough_ was an eye-opener to me, used though I was to hardships and hard men. I wished I had not shown myself such a hard caseback there in the Swede's. I cursed myself for the vainglorious fool Iwas for having put myself in such a hole. The only rift in my cloud ofgloom was Lynch; the second mate seemed favorably disposed towards me, I reflected, and had promised to choose me for his watch. He said Iwould be safe if I jumped lively to my work. I promised myself to dothat same, for I foresaw a cruel fate for the malingering man aboardthat vessel. 

From Lynch, my thoughts naturally jumped to Newman. What had become ofhim? Deserted, as Lynch had declared? Developed a craven streak, andcleared out? No. My grim, reserved companion of the night before hadhad some strong, secret purpose in joining the _Golden Bough_; if hehad deserted, I knew it was in obedience to that same hidden purpose, and not from fear of ship or officers. 

It was while I was speculating about Newman's disappearance that MisterLynch came aft and reported that fact to the Old Man, in my hearing. "We have them all hustling except two, " he told Swope. "One jasper theSwede dosed with his black bottle, and another one who has beensandbagged. I'll have them on deck by muster. A damned seedy bunch, taken by and large, Captain. We're one hand shy!"

"What's that? One hand shy?" exclaimed Swope, sharply. 

"Yes, sir; cleared out, I expect. Came on board last night--one of thetwo the Swede told us about, who picked the ship themselves. There'sone of them at the wheel. But the other one, the big one, was gonethis morning. Best looking beef of the entire lot, too. Goodsailorman, or I'm a farmer; looked like an officer down on his luck. "

Swope turned to me. "Where is the fellow who came on board with you?"he demanded. 

"I don't know, sir, " I replied. "He had disappeared when I woke upthis morning. "

"_Huh_! Sounds fishy!" was his response. "Don't lie to me, my lad, orI'll wring your neck for you!" He stood silent a moment, opening andshutting his fingers, just as though he were turning the matter over inthe palms of his hands. Then he cursed. 

"You searched about for'ard for him?" he asked Lynch. 

"Yes, sir; he isn't on board, " the second mate answered. 

"Then why are you bothering me?" the Old Man wanted to know. "If theswab is gone, he's gone. Drive the rest of them the harder to make upfor his loss!"

He resumed his pacing of the poop, while Lynch went forward. 

I was well enough pleased by the ending of the incident. For a momentI had feared the captain would blame me for Newman's absence. With thelittle squarehead's fate fresh in my mind I had no desire to foulYankee Swope's temper. 

But I could not help thinking about Newman. His going was a mystery, and, moreover, I was sorry to see the last of him. I wondered why hehad not stayed. It was not fear that made him clear out; of that I wascertain. What then? The lady?

I began to think about the _Golden Bough's_ lady. To think of Newmanwas to think of her. I was sure she had drawn him on board the ship. Had she, then, sent him packing ashore, while I slept? What was he--adiscarded lover? Was she the lass in the beggarman's yarn? Had heshipped so he might worship his beloved from the lowly foc'sle? Or washe seeking vengeance? Oh, I read my Southworth and Bulwer in thosedays, and had some fine ideas regarding the tender passion. I feltsure there was some romantic heart-bond between Newman and the lady. 

I wondered if the lady were really so lovely, possessed of suchgoodness of heart, as glowing foc'sle report declared. Was she reallyan incarnate Mercy in this floating hell? Did she really go forwardand bind up the men's hurts? Why did she not show herself on deck thisfine morning? I wanted to see this angel who was wedded to a devil. 

I heard her voice first, ascending through the skylight. It thrilledme. Not the words--she was but giving a direction to the Chinesesteward--but the rich, sweet quality of the voice. I, the foc'sleJack, whose ears' portion was harsh, bruising oaths, felt the feminineaccents as a healing salve. They stirred forgotten memories; they sentmy mind leaping backwards over the hard years to my childhood, and thesound of my mother's voice. No wonder; I had scarce once heard themellow sound of a good woman's voice since I ran away to sea five yearsbefore, only the hard voices of hard men, and, now and then, the shrillvoice of some shrew of the waterside. 

She ascended from the cabin, and stepped out upon deck, and, as ifmoving as far as possible from the harsh voices forward, came aft andstood near the wheel. And at the first glance, I knew that foc'slereport of the lady was not overdrawn, that the most glowing descriptiondid ill justice to her loveliness. 

Her age? Oh, twenty-four, perhaps. Beautiful? Aye, judged by anystandard. But it was not her youth, or the trimness of her figure, orthe mere physical beauty of her features that touched the hearts, andmade reverent the voices of rude sailormen. No; it was somethingbeyond, something greater, than the flesh that commanded our homage. 

Once since have I seen a face that was like the face of Captain Swope'swife--in a great church in a Latin country. It was a painting of theMadonna, and the master who had painted it had given the Mother's facean expression of brooding tenderness as deep as the sea, an expressionof pity and sympathy as wide as the world. You felt, as you looked atthe picture, that the artist must have known life, its sufferings andsins. 

It was a like expression in the face of the Captain's lady. She was nopretty lass whose sweet innocence is merely ignorance. She was a womanwho had looked upon life; you felt that she had faced the black eviland hideous cruelty in a man's world, and that she understood, andforgave. You felt her soul had passed through a fierce, white heat ofpain, and had emerged burned clean of dross, free of all petty rancoror hatred. It glowed in her face, this wide understanding andsympathy, looked from her eyes, and sounded in her voice, and it wasthis that won the worship of the desperate men and broken derelicts whopeopled the _Golden Bough's_ forecastle. 

Hair? Oh, yes, she had hair, a great mass of it piled on her head, black hair. Eyes? Her eyes were blue, not the washed out blue of amorning sky, but the changing, mysterious purple-blue of deep water. She turned those wonderful eyes upon me, as I stood there at the wheel, and the red blood flushed my cheeks, while the mask of cynical hardnessI had striven so hard to cultivate fled from my face. She saw throughmy pretence, did the lady, she saw me as I really was, a boy playingdesperately at being such a man as my experience had taught me toadmire. I was abashed. I was no longer a hard case with thosepitying, understanding eyes upon me. I was like a lad detected in amischief, facing my mother. 

She had heard some talk in the cabin, or perhaps she had overheardLynch's report to the Old Man, for her words showed she knew me as oneof the men who had shipped in the vessel of my own will. "Why--you areonly a boy!" she said, in a surprised voice. Then her face seemed todiffuse a sweet sympathy and understanding. I can't explain it, but Iknew that the lady knew just why I had shipped. She looked inside ofme, and read my heart--and _understood_! "Oh, Boy, why did you do it?"she exclaimed softly. "It is not worth it--why did you come!Listen!--do not give offense; whatever they do, show no resentment. Oh, they are hard--forget your pride, and be willing!"

She seemed about to say more, but Captain Swope interrupted. When sheappeared on deck, he affected not to see her; he had paced past hertwice, but not by the quiver of an eyelash had he shown himself awareof her presence. Now he suddenly paused nearby. Perhaps his sailor'ssense of fitness was ruffled by the sight of her in conversation withthe man at the wheel; or, more likely, his eye had noted the sceneoccurring forward, and he wished to force it upon her attention, because it would cause her pain. 

"Ah, madam, commencing your good works so soon?" he remarked, in asoft, sneering voice. "Well, from all signs for'ard, you had betteroverhaul your medicine chest. You will have a patient or two tosniffle over to-morrow morning. "

The lady shuddered ever so slightly at Swope's words, and her featurescontracted, as though with pain. Just for an instant--then she wasserenity again, and she gazed forward, as Swope bade, and silentlywatched the mates at their work. 

They were manhandling, of course. I might have found humor in thescene had not the lady just stirred the softer chords of my being. Away forward, by the foc'sle door, Mister Lynch was engaged in dressingdown the Cockney. This was not a particularly interesting exhibition, though, for although the Cockney showed fight, he was clearlyoutmatched, and arose from the deck only to be knocked down again. 

But, by the main hatch was a more interesting spectacle. There, MisterFitzgibbon was busied with the spare, red-shirted man, he of theintelligent face and gashed skull, the man I had found so mysteriouslyoccupying the bunk Newman had gone to bed in, and who, Lynch declared, was neither sailor, nor bum. There on the poop, we could not overhearthe small man's words for Mister Fitz's shrill cursing, but he seemedto be expostulating with the mate. And he seemed intent on forcingpast the mate and coming aft. He would try to run past the hatch, andFitzgibbon would punch him and send him reeling backwards. Even as wewatched, the mate seized him by the collar of his red shirt, slammedhim up against the rail, and then, with a belaying pin, hazed himforward at a run. 

I heard the lady sigh--and Swope chuckled. Then I noticed she wasstaring fixedly at the side of the cabin skylight. A few drops of theblood the Old Man had drawn from the little squarehead were splatteredupon the woodwork and the deck. Silently, she regarded them, and herslight figure seemed to droop a bit. Then, with a queer little shrug, she squared her shoulders, and faced the Captain with up-tiltedchin. . . . Aye, and I sensed the meaning of that little shrug, andthe squared shoulders. It meant that she had picked up her Cross, andthat she would courageously bear it in pain and sorrow through the darkdays of the coming voyage. For I truly believe the lady sufferedvicariously for every blow that bruised a sailor's flesh on board the_Golden Bough_!

"Yes, I must look to my medicines, " she replied to Swope. "I see theywill be required. " There was no active hate in her voice, or in hereyes, but she looked at the man much as one looks at some loathsome yetinevitable object--a snake, or a toad. And she turned away withoutfurther words, and descended to the cabin. Swope watched her departurewith a half smile parting his beard and mustache. Oh, how I longed tobe able to wipe that sneer from his mouth with my clenched fist!

CHAPTER VII

The Cockney relieved me at the wheel, at one bell, when the matesturned the crowd to after a short half hour for dinner. Oh, what achanged Cockney from yestereve! He came slinking meekly along the leeside of the poop. When he took over the wheel he had hardly spiritenough in him to mumble over the directions I gave him. His eyes werepuffed half closed, and his lips were cut and swollen. Gone was theswanking, swaggering Cockney who had paraded before the Swede's bar. Instead there was only this cowed, miserable sailorman taking over thewheel. That Cockney had suffered a cruel double cross when he drank ofthe black bottle, and was hoisted over the _Golden Bough's_ rail. Yesterday he was a great man, the "Knitting Swede's" chief bully, withthe hard seafare behind him, and with unlimited rum, and an easy, ifrascally, shore life ahead of him. To-day he was just a shell-backoutward bound, with a sore head and a bruised body; a fellow suffererin the foc'sle of a dreaded ship, mere dirt beneath the officers' feet. Such a fall! Keenly as I had disliked the man yesterday, to-day I wassorry for him. The more sorry because I felt that the Jocose Swede hadcome near having me as the butt of his little joke, instead of Cockney. 

I scurried forward, intent upon dinner. I drew my whack from theChinaman in the gallery, and bolted it down in the empty foc'sle. Itwas a miserable repast, a dish of ill-cooked lobscouse, and a pannikinof muddy coffee, and I reflected glumly that I had joined a hungry shipas well as a hot one. 

I finished the last of that mysterious stew, and then filled andlighted my pipe. I felt sure I would be allowed the half hour dinnerspell the rest of the crowd had enjoyed, and I relaxed and puffedcontentedly, determined to enjoy my respite to the last minute. Forthe sounds from the deck indicated a lively afternoon for all hands. But something occurred to interrupt my cherished "Smoke O, " somethingthat caused me to sit up suddenly and stiffly on the bench, while mypipe fell unheeded from my slackened mouth, and an unpleasant prickleran over my scalp and down my spine. 

I have already mentioned that the _Golden Bough_ had a topgallantforecastle; that is, the crew's quarters were away forward, in the bowsof the ship, beneath the forecastle head. It was a gloomy cavern; thebright day of outdoors was a muddy light within. 

Well, in the floor of the port foc'sle, wherein I was sitting, was thehatch to the forepeak, below. It was this yard square trap-door whichcaused my agitation. My glance fell casually upon it, and I saw itmove! It lifted a hair's breadth, and I heard a slight scraping soundbelow. 

Aye, I was startled! A rat? But I knew that even a ship rat did notgrow large enough to move a trap-door. The ghost of some deadsailor-man, haunting the scene of his earthly misery? Well, I had thesuperstitions of a foc'sle Jack, but I knew well enough that a properghost would not walk abroad in the noon o' day. I stared fascinated atthat moving piece of wood. It slowly lifted about an inch, and then, through the narrow slit; I saw an eye regarding me with a fixed glare. I glared back, my amazement struggling with the conviction that wasoversweeping me; and then, just as I was about to speak, Bucko Lynch'svoice came booming into my retreat. 

"_Hey_, you! D'you reckon to spell-o the whole afternoon? If you'vefinished your scouse, out on deck with you--and lively about it!"

There was no denying that request, eye or no eye. And at the secondmate's first word, the trap door dropped shut, I clattered out of thefoc'sle, and to work; but I was turning that little matter of theforepeak hatch over in my mind, you bet!

It was near dusk, well on in the first dog-watch, when the mates let upwith their driving, and herded all hands aft to the main deck. Theforepeak hatch had rested heavily upon my mind all afternoon, and I wastingling with excitement when I went aft with the rest to face theceremony which always concludes the first day out, the choosing andsetting of the watches, and the calling of the muster roll. Somethingunexpected was about to happen, I felt sure. 

We were a sorry looking crowd gathered there on the main deck, beforethe cabin, a tatterdemalion mob, with bruised bodies and sullen faces, and with hate and fright in our glowering eyes. Those few of us whowere seamen possessed a bitter knowledge of the cruel months ahead, therest, the majority, faced a fate all the more dreadful for being dimlyperceived, and of which they had received a fierce foretaste thatmerciless day. 

Captain Swope came to the break of the poop, lounged over the rail, andlooked us over. In his hand he held the ship's articles. He regardedus with a sort of wicked satisfaction, seeming to draw delight from thesight of our huddled, miserable forms. Without saying a word, hegloated over us, over the puffed face of the Cockney, over theexpression of desperate horror in the face of the red-shirted man, overthe abject figure of the little squarehead, who had been going aboutall afternoon sobbing, with his hand pressed to his side, and whoseface was even now twisted with a pain to which he feared to give voice. Aye, Swope stared down at us, licking his chops, so to speak, at thesight of our suffering; and we glared back at him, hating and afraid. 

Then the lady appeared at the poop rail, some paces distant from theOld Man. It was heartening to turn one's eyes from the Old Man'swicked, sneering face to the face of the lady. There was sorrow inthat brooding look she gave us, and pity, and understanding. She wasused to looking upon the man-made misery of men, you felt, and skilledin softening it. There was a stir in our ranks as we met her gaze, ahalf audible murmur ran down the line, and the slackest of usstraightened our shoulders a trifle. The Old Man sensed the suddencheer amongst us, and, I think, sensed its cause, for without glancingat the lady, he drawled an order to the mate, standing just below him. 

"Well, Mister Fitz, start the ball rolling--your first say. "

The mate allowed his fierce, pig eyes to rove over us, and to my secretdelight he passed me by. "Where's the nigger?" he said, referring tothe mulatto, who was at the wheel. "The wheel? Well, he's my meat. "

So the watch choosing began. Lynch promptly chose me, as he hadpromised he would, and I stepped over to the starboard deck. Fitzgibbon chose the Cockney, Lynch picked a squarehead--so thealternate choosing went, the mates' skilled eyes first selecting allthose who showed in their appearance some evidence of sailorlyexperience. 

"You!" said Fitzgibbon, indicating the red-shirted man, and motioninghim over to the port side of the deck. 

The red-shirted man, whose agitated face I had been covertly watching, instead of obeying the mate, stepped out of line and appealed to Swope. "Captain, may I speak to you now?" he asked, in a shrill, excited voice. 

"_Eh_, what's this?" exclaimed Swope, gazing down at the fellow. Helifted his hand and checked the mate, who was already about to collarhis prey. I think Swope knew just what was coming, and he found sportin the situation. "What do you want, my man?" his soft voice inquired. 

A flood of agitated words poured out of the red-shirted man's mouth. "Captain--a terrible mistake--foully mistreated, all of these menfoully mistreated by your officers--tried to see you and wasbeaten. . . . " With an effort he made his speech more coherent. "Aterrible mistake, sir! I have been kidnapped on board this vessel! Iam not a sailor, I do not know how I come to be here--I have beenkidnapped, sir!"

"How terrible!" said Swope. "I do not doubt your word at all, my man. Anyone can see you are no sailor, but a guttersnipe. And possibly youwere--er--'kidnapped, ' as you call it, in company with the wharf-ratsbehind you. "

"But, Captain--good heavens, you do not understand!" cried the man. "Iam a clergyman--a minister of the Gospel! I am the Reverend RichardDeaken of the Bethel Mission in San Francisco!"

The Reverend Richard Deaken! I saw a light. I had heard of theReverend Deaken while I was in the Swede's house. The labors of thisparticular sky-pilot were, it appeared, particularly offensive tocrimpdom. He threatened to throw a brickbat of exposure into the camp. He was appealing to the good people of the city to put a stop to thesimple and effective methods the boarding masters used to separate Jackfrom his money, and then barter his carcass to the highest bidder. Ihad heard the Swede, himself, say, "Ay ban got him before election!"And this is how the reverend gentleman had been "got"--crimped into anoutward bound windjammer, with naught but a ragged red shirt and a pairof dungaree pants to cover his nakedness; and he found, when he madehis disclosure of identity, that the high place of authority wasoccupied by a man who enjoyed and jeered at his evil plight. 

For, at the man's words, the Old Man threw back his head and laughedloudly. "_Ho, ho, ho_! D'ye hear that, Misters? The Swede has givenus a sky-pilot--a damned Holy Joe! By God, a Holy Joe on the _GoldenBough_! _Ho, ho, ho_!" Then he addressed the unfortunate man again. "So you are a Holy Joe, are you? You don't look it! You look like anordinary stiff to me! Let me see--what did you call yourself?Deaken?" He lifted the articles, and scanned the names thatrepresented the crew. "Deaken--_hey_! Well, I see no such namewritten here. " I did not doubt that. Save my name, and Newman's, Idoubted if any name on the articles could be recognized by any manpresent. "I see one name here, written in just such a flourishing handas a man of your parts might possess--- 'Montgomery Mulvaney. ' That isundoubtedly you; you are Montgomery Mulvaney!"

"But, Captain--" commenced the parson, desperately. 

"Shut up!" snapped Swope. "Now, listen here, my man! You may be aHoly Joe ashore, or you may not be, that does not concern me. But Ifind you on board my vessel, signed on my articles as 'MontgomeryMulvaney, A. B. ' Yet you tell me yourself you are no sailor. Well, myfancy man, Holy Joe you may be, stiff you are, but you'll be a sailorbefore this passage ends, or I'm not Angus Swope! Now then, step overthere to port, and join your watch!"

"But, Captain--" commenced the desperate man again. Then he evidentlysaw the futility of appealing to Captain Swope. Abruptly, he turnedand addressed the lady. 

"Madam--my God, madam, can you not make him understand----"

The lady shook her head, frowned warningly, and spoke a soft, quick, sentence. "No, no--do not protest, do as they say!" Well she knew thefutility of argument, and the danger to the one who argued. Indeed, even while she spoke, the mate took the parson by his shirt collar, andjerked him roughly into his place. And there he stood, by theCockney's side, wearing an air of bewildered dismay both comic andtragic. 

The mates renewed their choosing, and in a few more moments we were allgathered in two groups, regarding each other across the empty deck. There were fifteen men in the mate's watch, but, because of Newman'sabsence, only fourteen had fallen to Lynch. 

The Old Man handed down the articles to Mister Lynch. "All right, Mister, muster them, " he said. "And (addressing us generally) if youdon't recognize your names, answer anyway--or we'll baptize you anew!"

Lynch held the papers before his face. I thrilled with a suddenexpectancy. Something startling was going to happen, I felt it in mybones. Some clairvoyant gleam told me the forepeak hatch was wide opennow. 

"Answer to your names!" boomed Lynch's great voice. "A. Newman!"

"Here!" was the loud and instant response. 

As one man, we swung our heads, and looked forward. Sauntering aft, and just passing the main hatch, was the man with the scar. He cameabreast of us, and paused there in the empty center of the deck. 

It was the lady, on the poop above, who broke the spell of silence theman's dramatic arrival had placed upon all hands. She broke it with akind of strangled gasp. "Roy--it is Roy--oh, God!" she said, and sheswayed, and clutched the rail before her as though to keep fromfalling. She stared down at Newman as if he were a ghost from thegrave. 

But it was the manner of Captain Swope which commanded the attention ofall hands. He was seeing a ghost, too, an evil ghost. It was likefoc'sle belief come true--this man had sold his soul to the Devil, andthe Devil was suddenly come to claim his own. He, too, stared down atNewman, and clutched the rail for support, while the flesh of his facebecame a livid hue, and his expression one of incredulous horror. 

"Where have you come from?" he said in a shrill, strained voice. 

Newman's clothes and face were smutted with the grime from the peak, but his air was debonair. He answered Captain Swope airily. "Why--Icome just now from your forepeak--a most unpleasant, filthy hole, Angus! And less recently, I come from my grave, from that shamefulgrave of stripes and bars to which your lying words sent me, Angus!I've come to pay you a visit, to sail with you. Why, I'm on yourarticles--I am 'A. Newman. ' An apt name, a true name--_eh_, Angus?Come now, are you not glad to see me?"

It was unprecedented, that occurrence. A foremast hand badgering thecaptain on his own poop deck; badgering Yankee Swope of the _GoldenBough_, whilst his two trusty buckos stood by inactive and gaping. But, as I explained, there was an air about Newman that said "Handsoff!" It was not so much his huge, muscular body; there was somethingin the spirit of the man that was respect-compelling; something lethal, a half-hidden, over-powering menace; something that overawed. He wasno foc'sle Jack, no commonplace hard case; as he stood there alone, hehad the bearing of a man who commanded large ships, who directed greataffairs. And his bearing held inactive and over-awed those twofighting mates, while he mocked their god, Swope. 

And Swope! The man became craven before Newman's upturned gaze. Hewas palsied with fear, stark fear. I saw the sweat beads glistening onhis brow. He lifted a shaking hand and wiped them off. Then hesuddenly turned and strode aft, out of our view, without a parting wordto the mates, without even the time honored, "Below, the watch. " Inthe quiet that was over us, we heard his footsteps as he walked aft. They were uncertain, like the footsteps of a drunken man. We heardthem descend to the cabin. 

Newman turned his gaze upon the lady. She stood there, clutching therail. Her body seemed frozen into the attitude. But her face wasalive. 

Yes, alive--and not with fear or horror. There was a delight beyondthe powers of description shining in her face. There was incredulity, with glad conviction overcoming it. Her eyes glowed. Her heart was inher eyes as she looked at Newman. 

Newman spoke, and his voice was rich and sweet, all its harsh menacegone. 

"I have come, Mary, " says he. 

She did not reply with words. But they looked at each other, thosetwo, and although there were no more words, yet we gained theimpression they were communing. Men and mates, we gaped, curious andtongue-tied. This was something quite beyond us, outside ourexperience. Bully Fitzgibbon, across the deck from me, pulled wildlyat his mustache, and every movement of his fingers betrayed hisbewilderment. 

For what seemed a long time the man and the woman stood silent, regarding each other. The dusk, which had been gathering, crept uponus. The lady's face lost its clear outline, and became shadowy. Suddenly she turned and flitted aft. We listened to her lightfootsteps descending to the cabin, as, a short while before, we hadlistened to the Old Man's. 

When sound of her had ceased, Newman, without being bidden, stepped tothe starboard side and fell into line beside me. 

The mate finally broke the awkward silence. Lack of the usual stingfrom his voice showed how the scene had shaken him. 

"Well--carry on, Mister!" he said to Lynch. "Finish the mustering. "

The second mate read off the list of names. With the single exceptionof myself, not a man responded with the usual "Here, sir. " Not a manrecognized his name among those called; a circumstance not to bewondered at, for the list was doubtless made up of whatever nameshappened to pop into the Knitting Swede's mind. But the mates did notcare about responses. As soon as Lynch was finished, Fitzgibboncommanded shortly, "Relieve wheel and lookout. Go below, the watch. "

We of the starboard watch went below. Newman came with us, and hewalked as he afterwards walked and worked with us, a man apart. 

CHAPTER VIII

A man apart Newman was. We instinctively recognized that fact from thebeginning. When we had gained the foc'sle, the rage in our heartsfound expression in bitter cursing of our luck, the Swede, the ship andthe officers. But Newman did not curse, nor did we expect him to. Wesensed that he was glad he was at sea in the _Golden Bough_, that hewas there for some peculiar purpose of his own. He was, of course, thedominant personality in the foc'sle, indeed, in the ship. But, strangely enough, we did not look to him for leadership. We regardedhim curiously, and with awe and some fear, but we did not look to himto lead the watch. We felt he was not one of us. His business on theship was not our business, his aim not our aim. 

Because of this aloofness of Newman, I suddenly found myself occupyingthe proud position of cock of the starboard watch. A foc'sle must haveits leading spirit, and the cockship is a position much coveted andeagerly striven for in most ships, decided only after combat betweenthe fighting men of the crew. But the _Golden Bough_ had anextraordinary crew. The majority of the men in my watch were juststiffs, who possessed neither the experience nor desire to contest forleadership. The few seamen, besides myself and Newman, weresquareheads, quiet peasants of Scandinavia and Germany, who felt lostand unhappy without somebody always at hand to order them about. 

So, within half an hour after going below for that first time, I foundmyself giving orders to men and being obeyed. They were the firstorders I had ever given, and, oh, they were sweet in my mouth! Thinkof it, my last ship I had been ordered about by the foc'sle cock. Ihad gone to the galley at command and fetched the watch's food. Now, scant days after, I, a fledgling able seaman, was lording it over thefoc'sle of the hottest ship on the high seas, and ordering another manto go after the supper. And he went. I think I grew an inch duringthat dog-watch; I know my voice gained a mature note it lacked before. 

I was a true son of the foc'sle, you must understand, with the habitsand outlook of a barbarian. This leadership I so casually assumed mayappear a petty thing, but it was actually the greatest thing thathappened to me since birth. This little savage authority I commencedto exercise over my companions by virtue of the threat of my fists, wasmy first taste of power. It awakened in me the driving instinct, thedesire to lead, and eventually placed me in command of ships; it alsogave me my first sense of responsibility, without which there can be noleadership. 

During the supper, and after, I found myself watching and studying mycompanions. For I feared that my youth might later cause someone toquestion my cockship, and I meant to fight for it in that event. Butmy scrutiny satisfied my natural confidence. There was no man in mywatch I could not handle in either a rough-and-tumble or stand-up go, Ithought, with the exception of Newman. He would not interfere withme--his interest lay aft, in the cabin, not in the foc'sle. In theport watch were two fighting men, my eyes had told me, the Cockney andthe Nigger. If they disputed my will in foc'sle affairs, I was stillconfident I should prove the best man. I felt my tenure of office wassecure, and that new, delicious feeling of power quite effaced, for themoment, the memory of the day, and reconciled me to the ship. 

This scrutiny I gave my companions was the first chance I had to fairlysize them up, and I afterwards discovered that my first impressions ofthem, individually and collectively, were quite correct. 

We were, as you know, thirty men before the mast, fifteen to a watch. More than half of the thirty were of that class known to sailors as"stiffs. " This is, they were greenhorns masquerading on the articlesas able seamen. And such stiffs! The Knitting Swede must have combedthe jails, and stews, and boozing kens of all San Francisco to assemblethat unsavory mob. 

In my watch, Newman, myself, and four square-heads could be calledseamen. But the squareheads knew not a dozen words of English betweenthem. The other nine were stiffs, various kinds of stiffs, broken menall, with the weaknesses of dissolute living stamped upon theirinefficient faces. 

Except two men. These two were stiffs right enough, and their faceswere evil, God knows, but they plainly were not to be classed asweaklings. I noticed them particularly that first watch below becausethey sat apart from the wrangling, cursing gang, and whispered to eachother, and stared at Newman, who was lying in his bunk. 

They were medium sized men, as pallid of face as Newman, himself, andtheir faces gave one the impression of both slyness and force. A grimlooking pair; I should not have cared to run afoul of them on theBarbary Coast after midnight. I already knew the names they calledeach other--the only names I ever knew them by--"Boston, " for the blondfellow with the bridge of his nose flattened, and "Blackie" for theother, a chap as swarthy as a dago, with long, oily black hair, andeyes too close together. 

Even as I watched, they seemed to arrive at some decision in theirwhispered conversation. Blackie got up from the bench and crossed overto Newman's bunk. The latter was lying with his face to the wall. Blackie placed his hand upon Newman's shoulder, leaned over, andwhispered into his ear. 

I saw Newman straighten out his long body. For an instant he laytense, then he slowly turned his head and faced the man who leaned overhim. On his face was the same expression of deadly menace he had shownthe Cockney, back in the Swede's barroom. 

Blackie could not withstand that deadly gaze. He backed hurriedlyaway, and sat down beside his mate. Then Newman spoke in low, measuredtones, and at the first word the babel of noise stopped in the foc'sle, and all hands watched his lips with bated breath. 

"I play a lone hand, " he addressed the pair. "You will keep yourmouths shut, and work, and play none of your deviltries in this shipunless I give the word. Otherwise--" The great scar on his foreheadwas blue and twitching, and his voice was deadly earnest. He did athing so expressive it made me shudder. He lifted his hand, andcarelessly placed his forefinger on the outer side of his bunk, andwhen he lifted it, two of the myriad cockroaches that infested thefoc'sle were mashed fiat on the board. 

Blackie's face set sullenly, and the angry blood darkened his cheeks. Boston wriggled uneasily on his seat, and cleared his throat as thoughabout to speak. But, at the instant, Lynch's booming voice came intothe foc'sle, calling the watch on deck, and putting an abrupt end tothe scene. 

There was an immediate scramble for the exit to the deck. Aye, themates had put the fear of the Lord--and themselves--into us, and wewere all eager to show how willing we were! But I heard Fitzgibbonwithout, as well as Lynch, and, from the gossip I had heard at theSwede's, I suspected the foc'sle was about to be introduced to theorthodox hell-ship manner of turning to the watch. Both mates wouldmeet us coming up, and the first man on deck would get a clout for notbeing sooner, and the last man a boot for being a laggard. 

So I held back, and allowed another the honor of being first throughthe door. 

This honor was seized by none other than Blackie. I suppose he wasanxious to escape from Newman's disturbing gaze; anyhow, at the secondmate's first summons, he bounded from the bench, and tumbled throughthe door. I followed immediately after, and saw my suspicionsconfirmed. 

Mister Fitz was holding a lantern, and Mister Lynch had his hands freefor business. He met Blackie's egress with a careless jab of his fistthat up-ended the unfortunate stiff, and the injunction, "Hearty, now, you swabs! Lay aft!"

I quickly sidestepped out of the second mate's range, in case he shouldaim a blow at me, and started to obey the command to lay aft. But Ihad taken but a step when I was arrested by Blackie's action. 

Instead of adopting the sensible course of meekness under insult, Blackie rebounded from the deck and flew at Lynch. In the light castby Mister Fitz's lantern, I saw the gleam of a knife blade in Blackie'shand. I suppose the anger that Newman's words had raised explodedbeneath Lynch's blow, and caused his mad rashness. 

But Bully Lynch made nothing of the assault. "Ah, would you!" I heardhim say as Blackie closed with him, and then the knife-hand went up inthe air, and the weapon fell upon the deck. "I'll teach you!" saidLynch, and he commenced to shower blows upon the man. Blackie screamedcurses, and fought back futilely. Lynch commented in a monotone witheach of his thudding blows, "Take that--that--that. " Soon he knockedBlackie cold, across the forehatch. Then he turned to us who wereclustered outside the foc'sle door, watching. "Aft, with you!Jumping, it is, now!"

Aft, we went, and jumping, too, with the mate's laugh in our ears. 

CHAPTER IX

I had the second trick at the wheel that watch, from ten o'clock tillmidnight. I came panting and sweating to the task, keenly relishingthe chance of resting. For there was to be no "farming" away the nightwatches in the _Golden Bough_; the second mate had kept us upon thedead run from one job to another, and I sensed this was the routine ofthe ship. 

It was a fine, clean smelling night of moon and stars, and briskbreeze. The wind had freshened since day, and the vessel was steppingout and showing the paces that made her famous. She had an easy helm;one of those rare craft that may be said to steer herself. I had timeto think, and receive impressions, as I half lounged at the wheel. Theround moon brightened the world, the west pyramids of canvas above mebellied taut, the cordage wrung a stirring whistle from the wind, thesilver spray cascaded on the weather deck. I watched the scene withdelight, drank in the living beauty of that ship, and felt the witcherythe _Golden Bough_ practiced upon sailors' minds steal over and possessme. Aye, she was a ship! I was soon to curse my masters, and the veryday I was born, but never, after that night, did I curse the ship. Iloved her. I felt the full force that night of a hoary sea axiom, "Ships are all right. 'Tis the men in them. "

I was surprised not to see Captain Swope upon the poop. According tothe gossip I had heard at the Knitting Swede's, this eight to twelvewatch was Yankee Swope's favorite prowling time. But he did notappear; indeed, he had not shown himself since he had so ignominiouslysurrendered the deck to Newman. I was not disappointed. I shouldn'thave cared if he remained below the entire voyage. 

But I did see the lady that watch. When Mister Lynch, and hisfamiliars (of whom more anon), had gone forward to a job, she suddenlystepped out of the companion hatch and flitted aft towards me. Then, when she was close enough to discern my features by the reflection fromthe binnacle lights, she stopped. I heard a sort of gasping sigh thatmeant, I knew, disappointment, and she moved over to the rail, andstood staring at the sea. 

I knew what was wrong. She had, in the darkness, mistaken my veryrespectable bulk for Newman's gigantic body. She had expected to findNewman at the wheel; she was eager for a private word with him. 

I watched her, with my head half turned on my shoulder. Aye, but itthrilled me, the sight of her! You will call me a romantic young fool, but it was not that. It was no thrill of desire, no throb of passionfor her beauty, though she was fair enough, in all faith, as she stoodthere in the moonlight. It was something bigger, something deeper, awave of sympathy and pity that surged through my being, a feeling I hadnever before felt during my savage young life. A pretty pass, you say, when the ignorant foc'sle Jack pities the captain's wife? Aye, but thevery beasts of the field might have pitied the wife of Yankee Swope. 

Her body seemed so slender and childlike. Too fine and dainty to holdthe woe of a hell-ship, and, Heaven knew, what private sorrow besides. She did not know I was observing her, or else her great trouble causedher to forget my presence, for she suddenly buried her face in herhands, and her shoulders commenced to heave. It stabbed me to thequick, the sight of that noiseless grief. My eyelids smarted, and mythroat bulged uncomfortably. What was her trouble? Swope? Had hehurt her? Was the talk I had heard at the Swede's correct, did thatblack devil beat the lady? My hands grasped the wheel spokes fiercely, as though I had Swope's sleek throat between my fingers. 

I heard Mister Lynch coming aft. I thought the lady would not wish himto see her weeping, and since she did not seem to hear the approach, Icalled softly to her, "Lady! They come!"

She straightened, and, after a second, came swiftly to me. She benther face within the narrow radius of the binnacle lights, and her eyeslooked straight into mine. Aye, and the misery and suffering I saw inthose great eyes!

"God bless you, boy, " she whispered. "You are his friend? Tell him Icome forward in the morning. Tell him--for my sake--as he loves hislife--to look behind him when he walks in the dark!"

With that she turned and sped to the hatch, and was gone below. And upthe poop ladder tramped Lynch, with the two tradesmen following him. 

I have mentioned these two familiars of the second mate before, and Ihad better explain them. 

The _Golden Bough_ carried neither junior officers, nor bo'suns, anunusual circumstance, considering the size and character of her crews. Instead, she carried two sailmakers and two carpenters, and thesetradesmen lived by themselves in the round-house, ate aft at a specialtable, and, save when emergency work prevented, stood watch and watch. They stood their night watches aft, with the officer on deck. Thisarrangement--unique in all my sea experience--provided three men, awake, armed and handy, throughout the night. It worried us a gooddeal, this arrangement, when, in due time, we began to talk of mutiny. 

But I was not talking, or even thinking, of mutiny this night, or formany nights. Nothing was further from my thoughts. Mutiny is aserious business, a hanging business, the business of scoundrels, orthe last resort of desperate men. I knew the consequences of mutiny, so did the others, squareheads and stiffs, and we had not beensufficiently maltreated to make us ripe for such an undertaking. 

But there was mutiny in the air on the _Golden Bough_ from that veryfirst day or the voyage. I was soon to learn that there was plenty ofrebellious spirit forward, and shrewd, daring fellows eager to lead, because of piratical greed. Also, she was a hell-ship. It was part ofa hell-ship's routine to thump the crew to the raw edge of mutiny, andkeep them there. 

You must understand the _Golden Bough_, and to understand her you mustunderstand the knock-down-and-drag-out system in vogue on board a goodmany American ships of that day, and later. A hell-ship was not justthe result of senseless brutality on the part of the officers. She wasthe product of a system. The captain rode high in his owner's esteemwhen he could point to the golden results of his stern rule at sea; thebucko mates were specifically hired to haze the crew, and drew extralarge pay for the job. 

It was, of course, a matter of dollars. If the owners did not have topay wages to the crew, they would save money, wouldn't they? I supposesome sleek-jowled, comfortable pillar of church and society firstthought of it, and whispered it into his skipper's ear. And theskipper whispered it to his mates, and they made that ship so hot thecrew cleared out at the first port or call, leaving their wages behind. So was the hell-ship born. 

For instance: We were thirty men before the mast in the _Golden Bough_, signed on for the voyage at $25 a month. Of course, we didn't get anyof this wage until the voyage was completed, until the vessel returnedto an American port. Think of the saving to the owners if we desertedin Hong Kong. They would have no labor bill, practically, for workingthe ship from America to China, no labor bill during the months ere shewas ready for sea again. Then when ready to leave Hong Kong, Swopewould ship a new crew, haze them as we were being hazed, and they wouldclear out at the next port. 

That system worked. It was a money saver, and lasted till theascendency of steam, and the passage of tardy laws, ended it. Why, some skippers--like Yankee Swope---boasted they never paid off a crew. Talk about efficiency, and reducing overhead costs! Some of those oldwindjammer skippers could swap yarns with these factory experts ofto-day, I tell you!

Of course, not all American ships, or even a majority of them, adoptedthis system. But enough did to give American ships an evil name amongsailors that has endured to the present day. 

And this evil name helped sustain the system. It completed a kind ofvicious circle. The crew ran away from the hell-ship, and spread theevil fame of the vessel over the five oceans. Sailors then would notwilling ship in her--save, of course, a few adventuresome young fools, like myself, who sought glory--and the skipper found himself putting tosea with a mob of stiffs in his foc'sle. 

Often he had trouble getting stiffs. In some ports, where the crimpingsystem was not developed, the hell ship waited for months for a crew. In other ports, like San Francisco, where the boarding master's willwas the law of sailortown, the captain paid over his blood money, andthe boarding master delivered him his crew, drunk, drugged andsandbagged. When he got to sea he would find his crew composed chieflyof the very scum of the waterside, a mode of unlicked, lawlessruffians, and his bucko mates would need all their prowess to keep themsubordinate. Hazing such a mob was the only way to manage them. Also, it made them run away and leave their wages behind. 

But there were degrees of "heat" in the hell-ships. The bucko matesusually contented themselves with working the men at top speed, depriving them of their afternoon watches below, and thumping thestiffs, because they were lubberly at their work. This treatment wassufficiently severe to produce the desired results. This was normalhell-ship style. The few sailors, in the crew, providing they werewilling, rarely received more than verbal abuse. 

Now, brutality feeds upon itself. Some officers, after living underthe system for a time, became perfect fiends. They came to enjoybeating up men. In some ships, the dressing down of the crew was acontinuous performance, and sailors, as well as stiffs, caught it. 

As in the _Golden Bough_. God's truth, there was blood spilt everywatch! Always, after the first day out, did the foc'sle bunks containa miserable wretch or two laid up because of a manhandling. 

Yet we of the starboard watch were comparatively lucky. Mister Lynch, our officer, was what I may call a normal bucko. He hazed for theresults rather than for the pleasure of hazing, though I think he didget some satisfaction out of thumping the men. You feel a fine thrillwhen you see a half dozen huskies cringe away before you with fear intheir eyes. I imagine it is the same thrill a wild animal tamer feelsas he faces his beasts. I felt this fascinating sensation many timesafter I had become a mate of ships. Lynch had no mercy on the stiffsof our watch; he hammered the rudiments of seamanship into them withastonishing speed. He cuffed a knowledge of English into thesquareheads. But he kept his hands off Newman and me, not because hewas afraid of us--I don't think Lynch feared anything--but because weknew our work and did it. Oh, I got mine, and with interest, in the_Golden Bough_, but not from Lynch. 

The mate was a different type. He was all brute, was Fitzgibbon, andsailors and stiffs alike caught it from him. A natural bully, and, like most such, at heart craven. 

Lynch used his bare fists upon the men, Fitz used brass knuckles. Idon't think Lynch ever bothered to carry a gun in the daytime. Fitzgibbon never stirred on deck without a deadly bulge in his coatpocket. Lynch stalked among us by night or day, alone, and unafraid. After dark, the mate never stirred from the poop unless Sails and Chipswere at his heels. Lynch was a bluff, hard man; Fitzgibbon was acruel, sly beast. 

And Swope! Well, I cannot explain or judge his character. It wouldtake a medical man to do that, I think. He was his two mates rolledinto one, plus brains. He had fed a certain strong Sadistic element inhis nature until inflicting pain upon others had become his chiefpassion. I can imagine his perverted soul living in former lives--as aFamiliar of the Inquisition, or the red-clad torturer of some medievalprince. But explain him, no. I will tell his ending, you may judge. 

But, of course, I was not musing upon the economy of hell-ships, or thecharacters of bucko mates, during the balance of that trick at thewheel. The lady's message to Newman possessed my mind. 

When I went forward at eight bells, I immediately called Newman aside, and delivered her words. He listened in silence, and his face grewsoft. He squeezed my hand, and whispered somewhat brokenly, "Thankyou, Jack"--an exhibition of emotion that startled as much as itpleased me, he being such a stern man. 

Then, when I repeated the latter part of the lady's message, "Tell him. . . To look behind him when he walks in the dark, " his featureshardened again, and I heard him mutter, "So, that is his game!"

"What is?" I asked. 

He did not answer for a moment, and I turned away towards my bunk. Butat that he reached out a detaining hand. 

"You are a big man, Shreve, " he said. "Not such a difference in oursizes but that a man might mistake us after dark. Keep your weathereye lifted, lad; you, too, must look behind when you walk in the dark. "

"And what shall I look for?" asked I. 

"Death, " he said. 

CHAPTER X

Came morning, but not the lady. 

And the foc'sle was in sad need of her ministrations. Quite half thecrew needed salves and bandages for their bruises and cuts, and therewas, besides, a more serious case demanding attention. 

When the starboard watch was called at four o'clock, we heard a low, insistent moaning in the port foc'sle. The man who called us said thatthe little squarehead--the lad Swope had manhandled--had again fallenafoul the masters. The hurts Swope had inflicted prevented the boymoving about as quickly as Mister Fitzgibbon desired, so the bucko hadlaid him out and walked upon him during the mid-watch. When he wasthrough, the lad had crawled on his hands and knees into the foc'sle, and collapsed. 

By eight o'clock in the morning, when the starboard watch went belowagain, we found the poor chap daft, and babbling, and on fire withfever. The mate gave up his efforts to arouse him, and admitted toLynch that "the damn little stock fish is a bit off color. Needs adose o' black draught. "

After breakfast, Newman and I stepped into the port foc'sle. Thesquareheads of our watch were already there, sitting gloomily about, orclumsily attempting to make the injured youth more comfortable. 

He looked bad, no mistake. Newman shook his head, gravely, as weturned away. 

"It is a task for her, " he said to me. "She has the healing gift. Theboy is badly hurt. "

A growled curse took my answer from me. It came from one of thesquareheads, from Lindquist, a sober, bearded, middle-aged man, the oneman among them who could manage a few words of English conversation. 

"Koom vrom mine town, " he said, indicating the tossing form in the bunk. 

His blue eyes had a worried, puzzled expression, and his voice bespokepuzzled wrath. It was evident his slow moving peasant's mind wasgrappling with the bloody fact of a hell-ship. It was something new inhis experience. He was trying to fathom it. Why were he and his matesthumped, when they willingly did their work? What for? "Nils iss gootboy, " he said to us. "So hard he vork, _ja_. " Then he bent over thebunk and resumed the application of his old folk remedy, the placing ofwetted woolen socks upon Nils' forehead. 

Before the foc'sle door, we found our mob of stiffs, nursing theirhurts, and watching the cabin. For, as all the world of ships knew, this was the time of day the lady came forward on her errand of mercy. They were a sorry-looking mob, as sore of heart as of body. 

It was not so much medical attention the stiffs wanted, I think, assympathy. Bruises and lacerations, so long as they didn't keep a manoff his feet, were lightly regarded in that tough crowd. But thelady's sweet, sane being was a light in the pall of brutality that hungover the ship. She was something more than woman, or doctor, to thosemen; in her they saw the upper world they had lost, the fineness oflife they had never attained. They had all felt the hearteninginfluence of her presence at the muster; they craved for it now asthirsty men crave for water. They were men in hell, and through thelady they had a vision of heaven. 

Two bells went, and then three, and the lady did not come. At lastWong, the Chinese steward, came forward. 

"All slick man go aft, " says he. "Lady flix um. "

"Is she not coming forward?" asked Newman. 

"No can do. Slick man lay aft. "

"What have you there?" I demanded, for he bore a glass filled withliquid. 

"Dosey. Mlissa Mate, him say give slick man inside, " and he pointedinto the foc'sle. 

Newman ripped out an oath. "Give it here. A bonesetter, not a dose ofphysic is needed in there. "

He reached out his hand, and Wong obediently surrendered the glass. Hesurrendered something else. I was standing by Newman's side, and, sawthe piece of paper that passed into his hand with the tumbler. 

Newman's face remained as impassive as the Chinaman's own. He sniffedof the draught, made a wry face and tossed it, glass and all, over theside into the sea. Then he turned on his heel and went into thefoc'sle. Wong went aft, followed by most of the watch. 

I went after Newman. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk, musing, and the note was open upon his knee. He handed it to me to read. 

It was just a strip of wrapping paper, hastily scribbled over inpencil. But the handwriting was dainty and feminine. It was from thelady, plainly enough, even though no name was signed. 

"_We have quarreled, and he has forbidden me to leave the cabin, or goforward this voyage. He is drinking, he is desperate--oh, Roy, becareful, he is capable of anything. I know him now. Do not come aftwith the sick. _"

I looked at Newman inquiringly. But he said nothing to supplement thenote. He took it from me, lighted a match, and burned it up. Iguessed he was disappointed, that he had counted upon the lady comingforward. 

"And did the little dear write? And what did she say, " drawled anunpleasant voice behind us. 

I swung about with a start, and saw Boston and Blackie lying in theirbunks, one above the other. Boston had spoken, but they were botheyeing Newman. 

The dangerous light came into Newman's face. "Mind your own business!"he said, shortly. 

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, broken by Boston, with awheedling note in his voice. 

"Aw, say, Big 'Un, don't get horstile. We didn't mean to horn in. Wejust want to be friends; we feel hurt, Blackie an' me, at the wayyou're giving us the go by. We're all on the dodge together, ain't we?And we got a rich lay, I tell you! Blackie and me has it all figuredout, but we need you to lead, Big 'Un. What d'ye want to pal with thatcub for, when two old friends like Blackie an' me are ready and willingto work for you? We got a rich lay, I tell you!"

"Damn your thieving schemes, " said Newman. 

"Aw, now, bring the cub in, if you like, " persisted Boston. "He's agame 'un. "

Blackie, the hot-headed, spoke up, resentfully. He lifted his batteredface on his elbow, and lisped through the gap Lynch's fist had made inhis teeth. "Number seven hundred and three wasn't so finicky about hispals the time he jumped the dead line, and ditched the Big House!"

Newman crossed the foc'sle with one catlike bound. He got Blackie bythe throat and yanked him from the bunk. Then he shook him, and threwhim into the farther corner. 

"There will be no scheme set on foot from this foc'sle, save the one Ifather, " he told the pair in his cool, level voice. "I gave you youranswer last night. Now, if you two come between me and my goal, inthis ship, as God lives, I'll kill you!"

With that, he swung about and stepped into the port foc'sle. 

"Come on, Shreve, " he said to me, over his shoulder. "Lend a hand. You and I must attend to this boy. "

Presently I was standing by Nils' bunk, together with the squareheads, marveling at the gentleness with which Newman's huge hands handled thesufferer. It was an exhibition of practiced skill. The feeling wasstrong on me that moment that Newman had gained this skill in nofoc'sle, but in a cabin, where as master he had doctored his own sick. 

But, after all, he was no surgeon, and there was little he could do forthe lad. Newman undressed him--the squareheads had not been able toaccomplish this feat, because of the pain their rough handlingcaused--and bared the poor broken body to view. The squareheads curseddeeply and bitterly at the sight of the shocking bruises on the whiteflesh. Nils was delirious, staring up at us with brilliant, unseeingeyes, and babbling in his own lingo. 

"He say, mudder, mudder, " commented Lindquist in a choked voice. "Iknow his mudder. "

Newman explored the hurts with his finger, and his gentle touch broughtgasps of agony. His face grew very grave. Then he ripped up ablanket, and with my assistance, skillfully bandaged Nils about thebody. 

When he was through, he looked Lindquist in the eyes, and shook hishead. 

"So?" said Lindquist. His eyes, so stupid and dull a while before, were blazing now. Aye, it was evident his law-abiding mind had arrivedat a lawless decision; his lowering face boded no good for the brutewho had maltreated his young friend. "Gott, if he die!" he said. Itwas a full-mouthed promise to avenge, that sentence. 

As we left, I became aware that Boston and Blackie had followed Newmanand me, and had witnessed the scene. Said Boston to his mate, in a lowvoice that I just caught, "If the kid croaks we'll have the squareheads with us. "

CHAPTER XI

Captain Swope did not emerge from the cabin that day, nor the next day, nor the next. But we obtained plain confirmation of the lady's word hewas drinking, when, every morning the Chinese cabin boy brought emptybottles out on deck and heaved them overboard. Whereat, all thethirsty souls forward clicked their tongues and swore. 

But this interim, during which Yankee Swope stayed below, and moped anddrank, was, you may be sure, no peaceful period for the foc'sle. The_Golden Bough's_ mates could be trusted to hustle the crowd whether ornot the skipper's eyes were upon them. There was bloody, knock-aboutwork with belaying pin and knuckles, while the ship settled down intodeep sea form, and the mob of stiffs learned to keep out of its own wayand hand the right rope when yelled at. 

Since leaving port, the _Golden Bough_ had been standing a southerlycourse, on a port tack. Now, on the third day, the wind hauled aroundaft, and came on us from the nor'east, as a freshening gale. Wesquared away, and went booming down before it, true clipper style. Bynightfall it was blowing hard, and the kites were doused. 

The night came down black as coal tar, with an overcast sky, andlightning playing through the cloud in frequent, blinding flashes. Mywatch had the deck from eight to twelve, and Mister Lynch (and hissatellites, Chips and Sails) kept us hustling fore and aft, sweatingsheets, and taking a heave at this and that. 

Few watches in my life stand out so sharply in my memory. And it wasnot the near tragedy that concluded it that so impressed my mind; itwas the sailing. For Lynch was cracking on, and there was nofaint-hearted skipper interfering with his game. Indeed, had Swopebeen on deck before the hour when he did come up, I do not think hewould have protested. This reckless sailing was what made half thefame of the _Golden Bough_. It was said that Yankee Swope sailedaround Cape Stiff with padlocks on his topsail sheets! And this nightwe showed the gale the full spread of her three t'gan's'ls, and theship raced before the wind like a frightened stag. 

Oh, I had seen sailing before. I had been in smart ships, had run myEasting down in southern waters more than once, had made the easternpassage of the Western Ocean with the winter storm on my back the wholedistance. But this night was my introduction to the clipper style, where the officers banked fifty per cent on their seamanship, to avertdisaster, and fifty per cent on blind chance that the top hamper wouldstand the strain. An incautious system? Aye, but cautious men did notsail those ships. 

It was so dark we had to feel our way about the decks. I could not seethe upper canvas, but I could imagine it standing out like curved sheetiron. Every moment I expected to hear the explosion of rent canvas, orthe rattle of falling gear on the deck. Not I alone thought so, foronce when Chips and Sails went to windward of me, I heard Sails bawl tohis companion, "He'll have the spars about our ears before the hour is out!"

"Not he, " responded Chips. "Trust Lynch and his luck!"

True enough. The hour passed, and another, and Lynch still carried onwithout mishap. Indeed, the wind had moderated a bit. 

Throughout the watch I kept close by Newman's side. That warning, tolook behind me in the dark, had by no means escaped my mind. When wecame on deck, Newman said to me, "A good night for a bad job, Jack!Keep your eyes open!" Small advice on such a night, when a man couldnot have seen his own mother, stood she two feet distant!

That warning had puzzled me, and I did not dare question Newmanconcerning it. He was not the kind of man one could question. Butwhat was likely to lurk in the dark? "Death, " said he. Did that meanhe feared a stealthy assassination, a knife thrust from the dark? Didhe think that Captain Swope was planning the cold-blooded murder of anable seaman?

There was the question. In one way, it opposed my reason. Of course, this was a hell-ship, and murder might very well take place on board. But that the captain should deliberately plot the removal of a foc'slehand! Able seamen were not of such importance in a hell-ship. 

Yet Newman was more than a foremast hand. God knew who he was, or whathis business in the ship, but it was plain he was Swope's enemy, andthere was a private feud between them. His mere appearance had causedthe Old Man to run below, and remain hidden for three days! . . . There was the lady. She was Newman's friend. She knew the Old Man'smoods, and she was positive about it. The warning was doubtless wellfounded, I concluded. And Newman was my friend, my chum for thevoyage, I hoped. If there were danger for him in the dark, it werewell his friend stayed handy by. So, throughout that black watch, Istuck as close as possible to his elbow. 

Six bells went when the watch was forward at a job. Suddenly, down thewind, came a dear, musical hail, from aft. 

"Ahoy--Mister!"

"B'Gawd, the Old Man's on deck!" ejaculated Lynch to his assistants. Then he bellowed aft, "Yes, sir?"

"Reef t'gan's'l's, Mister!" came the command. 

"_Eh_!" blankly exclaimed Lynch. "Now, what is he up to?" But heyelled back his acknowledgment, "Reef t'gan's'ls, sir!"

When the sails were clewed up, Newman and I were ordered aloft on themizzen. The stiffs were useless aloft on such a night, and the foreand main were given the handful of squareheads and the two tradesmen. 

When we jumped for the sheer pole we passed within a foot of a figurelounging across the rail at the poop break, and we knew it was Swope. There had been no word from him since the initial order. 

It was so dark we did not see his face. As we swung up into the mizzenrigging, Newman shouted words in my ear that I knew the wind carried tothe captain. 

"The devil is abroad, Jack, and there is hell to pay!"

And when we had gained the yardarm, he added, "It is coming, Jack; onehand for yourself and one for the ship!"

But he did not act upon the advice himself. No more did I. Indeed, one needs both arms and a stout back to pass reef points. We leanedinto the work, put our united brawn into it, and progressed briskly. All the while I stared beneath me, into the whistling, inky void, trying to discern that spot on the deck below, where the braces thatheld this yard steady were made fast. I felt this lofty spot was nohealthful abiding place for Newman and me. I had a premonition of whatwas coming!

Yet, when it did come, I was caught unawares. I felt the wood I leanedon draw suddenly away from me. There came a jerk that nigh snapped myneck. My feet left the foot rope, and I was falling, head foremost, into the blackness. They said I screamed loudly. I was not consciousI opened my mouth. 

It is strange, the trick a thing like that can play with one's senses. I seemed to be falling for moments, an immeasurable distance. Actually, the whole thing occurred in about a second's space, and myfeet just about cleared the yardarm when Newman's grip fastened upon myankle. 

My face was buried in the smothering folds of the threshing sail; thenNewman had drawn me up until my body balanced on the yard. A secondlater my feet were again on the foot rope, and my hands fastened fordear life to the jackstay. 

I was conscious of using my voice then. Aye--but I swore! "By heaven, he let go the port brace!" I yelled to Newman. 

For answer, Newman grabbed me around the waist, just as a fork oflightning zigzagged through the sky. For the briefest instant, theship stood out in a bright light. Far below us, on the deck, we sawCaptain Swope standing, looking up at us. Then blackness again. Ifelt myself for a second time jerked clear of my foothold--toimmediately wrap my limbs about a wire rope. For Newman had leaped fora backstay, as the yard swung close, and carried me with him. 

For a moment we hung there, one above the other, then we commenced toslide to the deck. Mister Lynch's voice came booming up to us, and wesaw the light of a lantern bobbing about. A moment later we clatteredoff the poop, on to the main deck. 

A group was bunched together in the lee of the cabin, Captain Swope, and Lynch and the tradesmen. Lynch carried the lighted hurricane lampthat hung handy in a sheltered nook during the night. Forward, arespectful distance, the stiffs of the watch made a vague blot in thegloom. As, we came down the poop ladder a voice I recognized asBoston's called to us from this last group, "He tried to get you, Big'Un!" So I knew that the lightning flash had revealed to the watchwhat it had revealed to us. 

"The brace was slipped, " said Newman to Lynch. 

"I know, " replied the second mate, shortly. There was contempt in hisvoice, and I knew, when I looked at his grim, disdainful face, that hehad had no hand in the affair. Bucko Lynch might kill a man in what heconsidered the line of duty, but snapping men off a yardarm was not hisstyle. But I also knew that he was an officer of an American ship, andwould consider it his duty to back up his captain no matter whatvillainy the latter attempted. 

Swope smiled sweetly at us. One might think that a man, even a ship'sautocrat, when detected in an attempt at cold-blooded murder, wouldmake some specious explanation of his act. Not Swope. No hypocriticalcontrition showed in the face the lantern lighted; rather, a cool, pitiless inhumanity that squeezed my bowels, even while rage surgedwithin me. 

We had understood that Swope was drunk for the past three days, but thesmiling features showed no mark of his dissipation. Neither did heexhibit any of the fear he had shown at Newman's sudden appearance theother afternoon. It was plain that Captain Swope had taken hearteningcounsel with himself regarding the danger he might incur from Newman'spresence on board. Whatever was the mysterious feud between the two, Swope had the upper hand. He rested secure in the knowledge of hispower as captain, in his knowledge of Newman's helplessness as a mereforemast hand. 

And so he smiled, and said musingly, and distinctly, to Newman, "A missis as good as a mile, eh? But it is a long passage!" The coolinsolence of it! God's truth, it chilled me, this careless confessionof the deed, and threat of what the future held. And then, as thoughto remove the last possible doubt in our minds that the slipping of thebrace was an accident, that the whole job of striking sail was but apretext to get Newman aloft, Swope turned to the second mate. 

"I think she'll stand it, Mister, " he said. "You may as well shake outthe t'gan's'l's again!"

CHAPTER XII

I went below after that watch with the thought of mutiny stirring inthe back of my mind. But in the back, not the front, mind you. Formutiny on a ship is a dreadful business, as I, a sailor, well knew. Aneck-stretching business! Yet there the thought was, and it stuck, andpecked ever more insistently at my consciousness as the days passed. 

Of course, I was wild with rage at Swope's attempt. And I was anxiouson Newman's account. You see, I looked upon him as my chum, and--hadhe not saved my life, up there, on the yard? It is true, there werenone of the usual manifestations of foc'sle friendship between us; wedid not swap tobacco, and yarns, and oaths. Newman did not permit suchintimacy; always he was a man apart, a marked man. But, from the veryfirst, the man's personality dominated me, and, after that night on theyardarm, I felt a passionate loyalty to him. He was not insensible tomy friendliness, I knew; he welcomed it, and found comfort in it. 

If he had come to me that night, or afterwards, with a scheme fortaking the ship, I should have joined in straightway, no matter howharebrained it might seem. But, of course, he did no such thing. Indeed, he never mentioned the incident to me, after we left the deckthat night. For all of him, it might never have happened. And, youmay be sure, I did not intrude upon his reserve with queries, orreminiscence. 

Nor did the rest of the watch approach him. Rather did they avoid him, as a dangerous person. With that thought of rebellion in my mind, Iwatched my watchmates that night with more tolerance than my eyes hadyet shown them. I wanted to judge what stuff was in them. 

The stiffs whispered together and eyed us furtively. I did not likethe stuff I saw in them. Rough, lawless, held obedient only by fear, the scum of the beach--I did not like to imagine them sweeping alongthe decks with restraint cast aside, and passions unleashed. Thesquareheads were a different kind. Good men and sailors, here, but menwhose habit of life was submission. Yet, I saw they were gravelydisturbed by what had taken place on deck. No wonder. I knew theirminds. "Who is safe in this ship?" they thought. "Who, now, may goaloft feeling secure he will reach the deck again, alive and unhurt?"Those squareheads had proof of the mate's temper in the person of theiryoung landsman, lying broken in his bunk. Now, they had proof of theskipper's temper. 

My eyes met those of Boston and Blackie, eyeing me speculatively, andthe contact brought my musing to a sharp turn. What did Boston andBlackie think of it? I could tell from their bearing that, for somereason, they were pleased. I thought of them as fighting material--anddid not relish the thought. Fighters, yes, but foul fighters. I didnot like to think of being leagued with them in an enterprise. Andwhat was this "rich lay" they spoke of? What was this game they werewilling I should enter? Did they, too, think mutiny?

These thoughts plagued me for days, and I found no answer, or peace ofmind. Hell was preparing in that ship, I felt it in my bones; and wewere getting enough hell already, with drive, drive, drive, from dawnto dawn. Yet, there were rifts in the clouds. 

For one thing, Lynch quieted my mind of the fear that the Old Man wouldagain get Newman aloft at night, and attempt his life with bettersuccess. The very next day, Lynch came to the foretop, where Newmanand I were working on the rigging. He examined the work, and thensaid, abruptly, to Newman, "I had nothing to do with that affair last night. "

"I know you had not, " answered Newman. 

"I give you warning--he intends to get you, " continued the second mate. "But he'll not get you that way in my watch. From now on, you need notgo aloft after dark. "

"Thank you, sir, " said Newman. 

"You need not, " was the response. "I'm not doing this for your sake. Well--you understand. And make no mistake, my man, as to my position;I am a ship's officer, and if trouble comes it will find me doing myduty by my captain's side. "

"There will be no trouble if I can prevent it, sir, " was Newman's reply. 

"Then you have your work cut out for you. You--understand?"

"Yes, I understand, " said Newman. 

I watched Mister Lynch leap nimbly to the deck, and go striding aft, afine figure of a man. "Why, he's on the square!" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, he is not like the others, " said Newman. "She says his heart isclean. "

She says! Well, it was hardly news to me. I was sure he was incommunication with her. He always made it a point to meet Wong, thesteward, when the latter came forward to the galley. And there weretimes in the night watches below when his bunk was empty. He was agreat hand for pacing the deck in lonely meditation, and for stowinghimself away and brooding alone in odd corners. We did not spy uponhim, or force ourselves upon him, you may be sure. Not upon Newman. 

The lady was, we understood, forbidden by the Old Man to come forward. The daily visits to our dogs' kennel, dispensing cheer and mercy, andfor which she was famous the world around, were to be denied us thisvoyage. Because of Newman's presence. We missed the visits; theywould have brightened the cruel days. But I don't think any man feltresentful against Newman. Our sympathies were all with the lady, andthe lady's feelings, we knew, were all with Newman. So it was uponYankee Swope's unheeding head we rained our black curses. 

The lady was doing what she could to aid us. She held, every morning, a levee in the cabin for the lame and sick, all who could dragthemselves aft, and tended them skillfully. But this did not help thebedridden ones. It did not help young Nils. 

But nothing could have helped Nils. The bucko had done his work toowell. Not once did the boy rally; daily and visibly his life ebbed. 

You must understand the callous indifference of the afterguard torealize its effect upon the foc'sle. The boy lay dying for weeks, andnot once did the Captain come forward to look at him. Medicines andopiates were sent forward by the lady, but, though they eased the chap, they were powerless to salvage his wrecked body. Newman said Nils'ribs were sticking into his lungs. 

Lindquist went aft to ask permission to move the boy to the cabin, where the lady could nurse him. Swope blackguarded the man, andFitzgibbon kicked him forward. Lynch ignored the very existence ofNils---the lad was not of his watch, and the whole matter was none ofhis business. But Mister Fitz came into the port foc'sle every day, tomake sure Nils could not stand on his feet and turn to; and on deck hewould sing out to his watch that Nils' fate was the fate of each mandid he not move livelier. "Jump, you rats! I'll put you all in yourbunks!" he would tell them. 

The sight of their young landsman in agony stirred the berserk in thesquareheads of the crew. It made them ripe for revolt, drove them tolawless acts, as their shanghaiing and the brutality of the officerscould not have done. 

These squareheads were no strangers to each other. They were allfriends and old shipmates. The Knitting Swede had crimped them all outof a Norwegian bark, plied them with drink, and put them on board the_Golden Bough_ after he had promised to find them a high-waged coastingship. 

Young Nils was a sort of mascot in this crowd. He was making his firstdeep-water voyage under their protection and guidance. Most of themwere his townsmen; they had known him from babyhood. As Lindquist saidto me, his blue eyes filled with pain and rage, "I know his mudder. When Nils ban so high, I yump him by mine knee. " So it was that rageover the pitiful fate of their dear friend fanned into flame a spark ofrebellion in the squarehead's disciplined souls, and caused them, eventually, to leap the barriers of race and caste prejudice and makecommon cause with the stiffs. 

Now, I do not wish to idealize those stiffs. No use saying they werehonest workingmen kidnaped to sea. They were not. They were just whatthe mates called them--dogs, scum, vile sweeps of jail and boozing-ken. With the single exception of the shanghaied parson, there was not adecent man in the lot. Bums and crooks, all. 

These men had lived violent, lawless lives ashore. Here, at sea, themates hammered the fear of the Lord and the Law into them. This waswell and good. But the mates hammered too hard. They aimed to cow thestiffs, and cow them they did. But the stiffs' fear of the afterguardbecame so great they were like cornered rats. They came below after awatch on deck with fresh marks upon their faces and bodies, and heardlittle Nils moaning in his pain. And each man said to himself, "I maybe the next to get what the little squarehead got. "

Misery loves company, so these stiffs naturally drew close together. Their common hatred and fear of the afterguard fused them into a unit. By the time we were a month at sea, the stiffs, like the squareheads, were in a most dangerous temper, and ripe for any deviltry. 

This common state of mind grew beneath my eyes, but at first I did notsee significance in it. A mutinous state of mind is a normal state ofmind in a hell-ship's foc'sle. 

But a mutiny was incubating in that ship. There were men forward whowere vitally interested in bringing trouble to a head, in causing anoutbreak of violence, in fomenting an uprising of the slaves. One day, my eyes were opened to their game. 

For weeks I noticed Blackie and Boston circulating among the men duringthe dog-watches. They were great whisperers, a secretive pair, andthey never spoke their minds outright before the crowd. I paid themlittle attention, for I did not like them, and felt no interest in whatI thought was their gossip. It never occurred to me they wereindustriously fanning the spark of revolt, suggesting revenge to thesquareheads, and tickling the rascally imagination of the stiffs withhints of golden loot. 

So far my rule as cock of the foc'sle had been unchallenged. All handshad accepted my will in foc'sle matters willingly enough, and I hadbeen careful not to hector. As number one man, it was my place to seethat the men stood their "peggy"--that is, they took their regular turnabout at getting the food at meal time, and cleaning up the foc'sle. 

It came Boston's peggy day. He didn't like it a bit. He thoughthimself too good for such menial tasks, and suggested that Shorty, thesmallest and weakest of the stiffs, be made permanent peggy. I vetoedthis as unfair, and Boston went about the work, but sullenly. 

Next day was Blackie's peggy, as he well knew. When we came below atnoon, he made no move to fetch the grub from the galley. 

"How about dinner, Blackie?" I demanded. 

"Well--how about it?" he replied. "I'm no servant girl! Get your owngrub!"

All hands looked at me, expectantly. This was open defiance, and theywanted to see what the cock would do about it. There was only onething I could do, and I did it gladly. 

I took that chesty stiff by the throat, and squeezed until his eyespopped. Then I carried him out on deck and stuck his head in thewash-deck tub, to cool his ardor; the whole watch following us asinterested spectators. 

"Well, Blackie, how about dinner?" I asked, when I released my grip. 

In answer, he backed quickly away from me, spluttering oaths and saltwater. I watched him warily, for his affair with the second mate hadshown him to be a knife wielder, and I had no wish to be stabbed. Trueenough, he jerked out his sheath knife. 

"Stop that, you fool!" came Boston's voice, from behind me. "Do youwant to crab the whole game?"

Those words had an astonishing effect upon Blackie. His bellicoseattitude vanished abruptly, he stopped cursing, and his knife went backinto its sheath. 

"That dinner, Blackie, " I insisted. 

"Sure--I'll get it, " he answered submissively. 

But I wasn't satisfied with my victory. Of course, I was confident Icould have knocked him out as handily as Bucko Lynch, himself, but Iknew it was not fear of me, but obedience to Boston's words that causedBlackie to give in so readily. 

Those words bothered me. "Do you want to crab the whole game?" Nowwhat the deuce did Boston mean? What game were these two worthies upto? Undoubtedly, it was that "rich lay" they had spoken to Newmanabout. But what had I to do with it? How could I crab their game? Ibegan to think there was something besides loose talk in these hints ofrevenge and loot the pair were dropping in the foc'sle. 

I guess Boston knew my suspicions must be aroused, and thought it timeto sound my sentiments. Also, as it turned out, he wanted to pump meregarding Newman. I was Newman's one close friend, and Boston musthave thought I knew something of the big man's intentions. 

Anyway, after supper that evening, as I was sitting on the forehatch, whittling away at a model of the _Golden Bough_ I was making, Bostoncame and sat down beside me. 

"Should think you'd be so fed up with this hooker, you wouldn't wantany model of her, " he remarked, by way of opening a conversation. 

"She's a bonny ship, " I told him. "It is not the ship, it is the menin her. You'll never see a better craft than the _Golden Bough_, Boston. "

"_Faugh_!" he snorted, and followed with a blistering curse. "Blastyour pretty ships! I'd like to see this old hooker go on the rocks, byGod I would! Well--maybe I will see her finish, eh?"

I glanced at him sidewise, and discovered he was likewise regarding me, with the lids drawn over his pale eyes till they were mere slits. Ididn't like Boston's eyes. For that matter, I didn't like anythingabout Boston. But I was interested; I sensed this was no idle talk. There was something behind the words. 

"Small chance of your seeing her finish, " I said. "As well found aship as there is afloat--and you may call the Old Man and his buckoswhat you will, but they are sailormen. "

"I've heard of ships sinking in storms, " says he. 

"You talk like the stiff you are, " I scoffed. "Show me the weatherthat will drown the _Golden Bough_, with good sailors aft! Besides, Boston, we're not likely to have any bad weather, for which you can saya prayer of thanks, for you stiffs would catch it if we did pick up adecent blow. "

"Why not?" he asked. 

"It's a fair weather passage, " I explained. "These trades will blow usclean across one hundred and eighty, into the sou'west monsoon, andwith luck that'll carry us into the China Sea. Of course, there isalways the chance of meeting a hurricane this side, or a typhoon on theother side. You'll squeal if we do, I bet!"

Says he, "Well, now how about running on a rock? We'll be going amongislands, _hey_? These South Sea Islands?"

"Forget it, " I replied. "We'll not sight the beach this side of theOrient, unless the Old Man makes a landfall of Guam. We are runningalong sixteen north, and that takes us south of the Sandwich group, andnorth of the Marshalls and Carolines. "

"Well, now, I guess the Big 'Un has been showing you his map, hey?"

"What's that to you?" I said, shortly. 

"Nothing. Nothing at all, " he answered, hurriedly. 

In truth, I was surprised and nettled. I hadn't got the point ofBoston's questions, and I hadn't supposed he was watching Newman and meso sharply. 

For Boston had it right, I had been looking at the Big 'Un's "map. "Newman had a fine, large scale chart of the Pacific in his bag, andthis he brought out every day, and traced upon it the progress of thevoyage. He got the ship's position either from the steward, or fromthe lady, I did not know which. 

I had been privileged to see the chart, but I knew that none other hadventured to approach when it was spread out on Newman's bunk. Newmanhad traced the ship's probable course clear to Hong Kong, for mybenefit, and explained to me the problems of the passage. He did notspeak like a man merely guessing, but with authority, like a man whohad sailed his own ship over this course. I absorbed the informationgreedily, but did not venture to inquire how he was so positive aboutYankee Swope's sailing plans. Somehow, I knew he was correct. 

It pricked my conceit to discover that Boston was aware Newman hadfathered the information that was falling from my lips. 

"Say, how long before we reach Hong Kong?" went on Boston. 

"You had better ask Newman, himself, " I retorted. 

"Now don't get mad, Jack, " he said humbly. "You know I didn't meannothing. Guess you _sabe_ as much about sailing as the Big 'Un, anyway. "

"Well, this is a fast ship--none faster, " I told him, mollified by hisflattery. "Say seventy days, at the outside, from 'Frisco to HongKong. Probably sixty days would be nearer to it. "

At that he burst out cursing, and consigned the ship and all herafterguard to the Evil One. "My God, another month of this hell!" hecried. "Will you stand it, Shreve?"

"Sure. We'll all stand it. What else to do?" I replied. 

"What else!" said he. His voice was suddenly crafty. "Well, now, Shreve, didn't it ever strike you as how we're blasted fools to letthose fellows aft knock us about? There are thirty of us, and two ofthem!"

"More than that, " I warned him. "You forget Captain Swope, and thetradesmen. There are seven of them, aft, all armed, and of a fightingbreed. You are hinting at a silly business, Boston. "

"Oh, I don't know, " he persisted. "Thirty to seven ain't so bad. Andthey haven't all the arms--we got our knives, ain't we? And maybeother things, too. "

"Forget it, " said I. "Don't imagine for a minute these stiffs willface guns. You and your mate might, but as for the rest of thegang--why, Lynch could clean them up single-handed. Better stow thatkind of talk. It's dangerous. You have the law against you, and it'sa neck-stretching affair. "

"The law?" he echoed. "What do you think that gang cares for the law?Mighty few laws they ain't broke in their time! And they may bestiffs, right enough, but they'll fight--for money!"

"Dare say, " I remarked, sarcastically. "And I suppose you'll hire themwith your bags of gold, which you probably have stowed under your bunk?"

"Well, now, maybe I'd just have to promise them something, " he said. He glanced around, then leaned towards me and lowered his voice to awhisper. "Shreve, there are a hundred thousand dollars in hard cashaft there in the cabin!"

"What's that?" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, " he said. "I know. You bet I know. Blackie and me knew beforeever we come on board this cursed hooker. The Swede didn't shanghaius, you bet!"

"Oh, stow that sort of guff, Boston, " I told him. "Maybe the Swededidn't shanghai you; but if he didn't, it was because you and your matewere willing to ship with the devil himself in order to get out of thecountry. "

My words touched his temper, as I thought they would. "You seem toknow a lot more than I know myself, " he sneered. Before I couldanswer, he regained control of his tongue, and continued with oilysuavity. "I guess the Big 'Un has been talking to you? Hasn't he? Iguess maybe he's told you that Blackie and me are two men who can takea chance without weakening? Say, Jack, what has the Big 'Un beensaying to you about us? I want particular to know. "

"He hasn't said a blessed word about you, " I answered, truthfully. 

Boston cursed, and favored me with an evil squint; then he hid the lookbehind a forced laugh. "Well, If you don't want to tell me, I guessyou don't have to, " he remarked. "It don't hurt me and Blackie none, whatever the Big 'Un says. And say, Jack, you and us ought to be goodfriends. Blackie and me know that you're a good man, the kind that'lltake a chance, and keep his word. Well, we're the same. There areonly a few of us in this end of the ship that have any backbone tospeak of, and we ought to stick together. There's pay-dirt in thisship if we only play the game right. "

"What do you mean?" I wanted to know. 

But Boston concluded he had said almost enough for once. He rapped hispipe against the hatch-combing to dislodge the dottle, and got to hisfeet. I thought he was going to leave me without replying to my query, but after he had taken a step or two he spoke over his shoulder, softly. 

"That's true what I said about the money, Jack. It's there, justwaiting for a few lads of nerve to come and take it. "

"If that talk gets aft, the Old Man will have you thumped into a jelly, just as an example to the other stiffs, " I warned him. 

He gave the devil's cackle that passed with him for a laugh, andstepping close to my side, spoke directly into my ear. 

"Who is going to take the talk aft? Not you. Blackie and me know thatJack Shreve ain't a snitch. Not the Big 'Un. You can tell him what Isaid if you like. You can tell him something more. Blackie and methink there is a snitch in this gang, and the Big 'Un had better keephis eyes peeled for a double-cross. You tell him that. You tell himto ask Nigger about it. "

"What do you mean?" I cried. 

His answer was a mysterious shake of the head, and he disappeared intothe foc'sle. 

CHAPTER XIII

If Boston meant to give me something to think about, he succeeded. Heleft me worried. Not about the treasure or mutiny at which he hinted;for the time being I put this subject out of my mind. I was concernedover his unexplained warning. What did it mean? Did some new dangerthreaten my friend?

I went in search of Newman, to give him the warning. He was not in hisbunk, so I stepped into the port foc'sle, expecting to find him byNils' side. Nils was dying--we had been expecting him to go at almostany hour for a week past--and Newman had been spending a goodly shareof his watches below by the lad's side. 

But he was not there now. The parson, and some of the squareheads ofthe port watch, were keeping sick vigil. Nils was very near the timewhen he must slip his cable; he lay quiet, eyes closed, hardlybreathing, and his thin, white face seemed already composed into itsdeath mold. Holy Joe sat holding the boy's hand; his head was bowed, and I judged he was praying. The others stared miserably at the floor, or ceiling, or at each other. Aye, the taste of bitter sorrow was inthe air of the port foc'sle. I left without disturbing the silentwatchers, but I wondered at their boldness. They should have been ondeck. Mister Fitzgibbon did not give his men respite, even during thedog-watches. 

I went poking about the odd corners of the fore deck, expecting to findmy man tucked away somewhere smoking and meditating, for Newman was asolitary fellow, very fond of his own company in his free time. I laidthe ill-success of my search to the dusk; it was past seven bells, andalthough there was still a glow in the western sky, on board ship itwas quite dark and the sidelights had been out a half hour. Finally, Idecided to lay off, waylay the Nigger when he came for'ard from histrick at the wheel, and ask him myself what was the meaning of Boston'stalk of "snitch. "

Now it was no light undertaking for a foremast hand to trespass abaftthe main mast in the _Golden Bough_. There was risk in it, risk of abeating, or worse. A man might lay aft in that ship to work, or inobedience to orders, but for no other reason. Hell-ship discipline. 

So I slipped aft without making a noise, and avoided attracting tomyself unwelcome attention from the poop. I was barefoot, and I creptalong the rail, keeping within the shadows on the lee deck. When Icame abreast the roundhouse, I darted into the black shadow it threwupon the lee deck, and crouched there, composed to wait. My eyes wereaft, upon the break of the poop, and I was ready to take instant flightfor'ard, did discovery threaten me. 

After I had lain there a moment, I noticed the figure of a man standingmotionless, flattened against the cabin wall, on my side of the deck. He was so still he appeared to be lifeless, a part of the ship; Ilooked hard before I decided it was a man. It was too dark to make outhis features, almost too dark to discern outline, but by the bigness ofthe blot he made against his background I was sure the man was Newman. What he was doing in such a position I could not guess, but I was sosure of my man, I did not hesitate to move towards him. I even spokehis name, in an urgent whisper. 

My hiss brought a prompt response, but not the one for which I waslooking. To my surprise the fellow ran away from me; he slipped acrossthe deck (padding noiselessly, for he was barefoot, like, myself) and, bending nearly double, scurried for'ard beside the weather rail. 

I stared after him, undecided what to do. The man looked like Newman, but he did not act like him. I had half a mind to pursue his flittingfigure. 

Then all at once I discovered I must take cover myself. I heard themate's voice, up on the poop; he was hailing his tradesmen. 

"We'll take a whirl for'ard, " says he. "I'll give the bums a sweat atthe braces so they won't think I'm asleep. "

I had moved away from the shadow of the round-house, and was revealed, as I stood, to any eye looking over the poop rail. I was in a ticklishposition altogether. If braces were to be tightened, the lee of theroundhouse would be a poor hiding-place for me. In fact it would be nohiding-place at all. But get out of sight I must, and quickly, orsuffer the unpleasant consequences of discovery. 

I heard boots clumping on the poop deck. There wasn't time for me toescape forward. So I darted aft and flattened myself against the cabinwall, in exactly the same position, and in very nearly the same spot, as that occupied by the fellow I had scared away. I was not a secondtoo soon. Sails and Chips came down the port ladder, and paused on themain deck, almost within arm's reach of me, waiting for the mate tojoin them. 

If they had glanced in my direction they must have seen me. But theywere looking forward, and were also occupied with talk. 

Said Chips, "But what's the game? He's working up trouble, that'splain. But what's he after this time?"

Said Sails, "He's after that fellow in the Greaser's watch, or I'm adamn bad guesser. But, his game--well, ask me something easy. Did youever know anybody to fathom his game?"

This I heard with one ear. At the same time my other ear was gettingfilled with different kind of talk. Aye, my post was between twoconversations, and I found myself eavesdropping in two directions. 

This wall I hugged was the forward wall of the sail-locker, which, inthe _Golden Bough_, was a large room in the cabin space, and as Istood, my starboard ear was but a few inches distant from thesail-locker door. This door was in two parts, and the upper half wasbarely ajar. Through this narrow slit I heard--I couldn't helphearing--the murmur of low-voiced talk. Two people were in thesail-locker, talking. Oh, aye, I had discovered Newman. I recognizedhis voice. I recognized the other voice--the lady's voice. 

"Oh, Mary--little love--it doesn't seem to matter any more. When I amwith you, it is just a hideous dream from which I have awakened. " Itwas Newman speaking, and in a voice so tender, so vibrant with feeling, it was hard to believe the words came out of the mouth of the foc'sle'siron man. "But now I wish to live again. Ah, little love, I have beendead too long, dead to everything except pain and hate. But now that Iknow, now that we both know--oh, Mary, surely we have earned the rightto live and love. God will not hold it against us, if I take you fromthat mad beast. God--I am beginning to believe in God again, Mary, when I am with you. "

"I, too, wish to live--and in clean air, " came in the lady's voice. "Oh, Roy--five years--and the piling up of horrors--oh, I could nothave stood it very much longer, Roy. But now--we can forget. "

"That lad for'ard is all ready to slip his cable, " came from the otherdirection, from Chips. "The steward says he's all set to go. "

"He's been all set for a fortnight, " was the other man's comment, "buthe hangs on. Takes a lot to kill a squarehead. Most likely he'll behanging on when we make port. "

"Not if I know Fitz and--him, " said Chips. "You don't think they'dleave evidence of that sort for a port doctor to squint at. Rememberthat Portagee, last voyage, and how he finished?"

"Aye, it was hard on the lady, that job was. But he--he's a devil, sure. No use standing out against him. "

"Five years! My God, how have you been able to stand it, Mary?" saidNewman. "Five years--and most of them spent at sea in this blood ship!"

"It has been my penance, Roy. It has seemed to me that in sailing withhim, in lessening even a little bit the misery he causes those poormen, I have been atoning, in a little measure, for my lack of faith inyou. Oh, it was my fault in the beginning, dearest. If only I had hadfaith in the beginning, if only I had trusted my heart instead of myeyes and ears. I might have known that time that Beulah was lying. "

"Hush. How could you know? It was my stubborn, stupid pride. If Ihad not rushed away and left the field to him. And I never knew, oreven guessed, until Beasley told me. "

"If I was that big fellow, I'd just hop over the side and have it overwith, " came from Sails. "If the Old Man is after him, he's bound toget him, and making a quick finish himself would save a lot o' botherall around. "

"What's it about, anyway?" says Chips. 

"How do I know?" answered Sails. "I don't go poking my nose intoYankee Swope's business, you can bet your bottom dollar I don't. Itake my orders, and let it go at that. Same as you. Same as theothers. There's Fitz up there now, chinning with him, and I bet Fitzdon't know much more of his game than you and me. He takes his ordersjust like we do. "

"That's right. We ain't hired to think. Not in this ship, " agreedChips. 

"Do you think, Roy, that Beulah--that she jumped--herself?" The lady'svoice was trembling. 

"I don't know, dear. I think maybe she did. But Beasley thought--oh, well, what does it matter now?"

"Beasley thought he did it. I knew--I felt it was him, oh, long, longago. It would be like him, Roy. He has never dropped a hint thatwould incriminate himself, but I have known his guilt of the otherthing--for which you suffered--ever since our marriage. When hedropped the mask, revealed himself in his true character--oh, I knew hemust be guilty. And I was helpless. "

"My God, five years!" muttered Newman. "How could you stand it?"

"It was not so hard, except at first, " said the lady. "Too much horrornumbs, you know. And one thing made it endurable--he has spared me theintimacy of marriage. It is true, dearest; I am as much a maid as Iwas five years ago. He is that kind of a man, Roy. It is not women helusts for, it is--oh, it is blood. There is something horrible in hismind, a diseased spot, an unnatural quirk, that drives him toabominable cruelties. It is some tigerish instinct he possesses; itmakes him kill and destroy, it makes him inflict pain. Oh, Roy, it ishis pleasure--to inflict pain. "

"Lynch doesn't like it, " said Sails, in reply to some question I hadmissed hearing. 

"Little good not liking it will do him, " was Chips' opinion. "He'll dowhat the Old Man wants him to do, just like the rest of us. "

"Has he ever used you--as victim?" said Newman, a new, hard note in hisvoice. 

"No, no, not in that way, " answered the lady. "It is to the crew hedoes that. He has never hurt me physically. "

"But mentally, eh?" remarked Newman, "He enjoys refinements ofcruelty, also? Mental torture, when he finds a mind intelligent enoughto appreciate subtleties? That is it?"

"Yes, that is it, " said the lady. "It was horrible at first. Butafterwards, when I had found my work, I did not mind him very much. Helet me go on playing doctor to the crew because he thought it hurt meto see and handle those poor creatures. Oh, it did hurt! But thework, the being useful--it has saved me, Roy, it has kept me sane. "

"He's a good man, none better, " said Chips, still talking about Lynch, "but he's too soft for a bucko's job in this wagon. "

"Five years; good God! The prison was heaven compared to what you havelived through. Oh, my poor darling! And he--the vile brute----"

"No, no, not that attitude! You have promised--" exclaimed the lady. 

"He's not soft, " Sails disputed with Chips. "He's as hard as they'remade. But he's a square-shooter, Lynch is, and the rest o' us ain't. That makes the difference. Now we got good reasons to do anything theskipper says, we being what we are, and him being what he is, and weknowing he can turn us up, and will, if we don't suit. But JimLynch--not Swope, or any other man, has a hold on him. "

"No man, maybe, " says Chips. "But in the other quarter, now. If Lynchain't soft there, I'm a soldier. "

"Who ain't a bit soft in that quarter?" Sails demanded. "I'm mightysorry for her, same as you are, same as everyone is, save Fitz. If itwasn't that Swope has me body and soul, I'd side with Lynch, b'Gawd, inanything he wanted to start. "

"Shut up!" exclaimed Chips. "That's damn fool talk to come out o' yourmouth. "

"Oh, you have softened me, Mary, you have unmanned me!" I heard Newmansay. "I came to this ship to kill, and now--there is little bitternessleft in my heart. I am only eager now to be gone with you beyond hisreach. "

"I am glad, more glad than I can tell, " the lady told him. "His lieshave ruined your life, and mine, but I do not want you to stain yourhands with his blood. Oh, there has been so much bloodshed! You mustnot; you have promised!"

"Yes, and I will keep my promise, " said Newman. "But you havepromised, too, and you know how I qualified my promise. We cannot taketoo many chances with him, and you know that he has no scruples aboutshedding blood. He knows, he must know, that I do not intend to leaveyou in his hands; he must realize, also, that now he is not safe solong as either of us is alive and at large. Why, dear, you know thetrap he is preparing!"

"Yes, yes, I know, " was the response. "But my prayer is that we mayget away before he is ready. "

"It is my prayer, too, " said Newman. "I gladly give up my revenge foryour sake, little love. But I intend to protect you, and myself--that, too, is my promise. "

"Here comes Fitz now, " said Sails. 

It was touch-and-go with discovery a second time as Mister Fitzgibbonstamped down the ladder. But he was already bawling for the watch, andhad his eyes fixed straight ahead; and immediately he went forward withthe tradesmen at his heels. 

I waited until the mate's bellow sounded well forward, and I was suremy retreat would be unobserved. Then I placed my lips to the openingin the sail-locker door and called softly, "Newman! Come out of thatat once; you are spied upon!"

I heard the lady gasp, and knew my message was received and understood. I waited for no other response. I scuttled away from that perilousspot as fast as caution permitted my legs to travel. Jack Shreve wasno Newman; I had not his cool nerve when it came to flouting hell-shiprules. In truth, I was in a blue funk all the time I was aft, for fearI would be discovered. And there was another reason for my haste ingetting forward. There was a sudden uproar in front of the foc'slethat bade fair to carry through the ship. 

There was trouble in the air; I could sniff it as I ran. Although timeenough had elapsed since the mate sang out his order to man the braces, the watch was not yet at the rail; and this was a strange thing in aship where men literally flew about their work. The trouble was in theport foc'sle; I could see the crowd bunched on the deck before thedoor, and Mister Fitzgibbon's voice had risen to a shrill, obscenescream as he poured blistering curses upon some luckless head. 

I dodged across the deck and around the starboard side of the deckhouse, and thus came upon the scene in a casual manner, as though I hadjust stepped out of my own foc'sle to see what was wrong. I mingledwith my watch mates, who had turned out to a man to watch the row. 

Over on the port side of the deck a royal shindy seemed to bepreparing. Aye, the mate had at last struck fire from his squareheads!They were on the verge of open rebellion. The stiffs of the port watchhad fallen to one side, and stood quaking and irresolute, but thesquareheads, all of them, were bunched squarely between the mate andthe foc'sle door, and to the mate's stream of curses they interposed awall of their own oaths. Mister Fitzgibbon had his right hand in hiscoat pocket, and all hands knew that hand was closed about the butt ofa revolver; moreover, the tradesmen stood on either side of him, prepared to back him up in whatever course he chose to take. They weregood men, those tradesmen, fighting men, and skilled in just suchbattles as this promised to be. The port watch Sails, who stoodnearest to me, was armed with a heavy sheet pin, and he stood with hisface half turned towards the starboard side. Aye, they were cannyfighters--if it came to blows they would not be taken in the flank bysurprise. 

Mister Fitzgibbon was swearing over the heads of the squareheads. Hethrew his words into foc'sle. He was calling upon Holy Joe, theparson, to come out of it blasted quick and be skinned alive, b'Gawd!Broken bones were being promised to poor Holy Joe. That was why thesquareheads were showing fight--not to protect their own skins, but tosave the parson from the mate's wrath. For their little Nils wasdying, and Holy Joe was by his side, praying for his passing soul. AsI learned afterwards, when the mate sang out for his watch to man thebraces, all jumped to obey save the parson; he stayed with Nils. Hisabsence was noted immediately, for the mate was lynx-eyed; andFitzgibbon was all for invading the foc'sle and hauling out the truantby the scruff of the neck. Aye, Mister Fitz was all for teaching alesson with boot and fist, for Holy Joe was a small man and a pacifist, fair game for any bucko. But the squareheads would not have it so. For Nils was dying, and Holy Joe was praying for his soul. 

Suddenly Mister Fitzgibbon stopped cursing, and in a voice that meantbusiness, ordered the watch aft to the braces. The stiffs tumbled overthemselves in their eagerness to obey; but not a squarehead budged. They still stood between the mate and his victim. So he drew therevolver out of his pocket, and pointed it at Lindquist. 

"Lay aft--or I'll splatter lead among you!" he said. 

He meant it. He would have shot Lindquist, I am sure, for winging aman, or worse, meant little to the mate of the _Golden Bough_, and thesquarehead bravely stood his ground. But the threat to shoot into themen who were shielding him had the effect of drawing the parson out ofthe foc'sle. He suddenly appeared in the lighted doorway. 

"_Oho_, that brought you out of it--_hey_, you snivelingthis-and-that!" hailed Fitzgibbon. He lifted his aim from Lindquist, and brought the weapon to bear upon Holy Joe. "Step aft, here, youswab, or I'll drill you through, s'help me!"

The words brought a menacing growl from the squareheads; there was astir among them, and they seemed about to fling themselves upon thetrio. But Holy Joe checked the movement with a word. 

"Steady, lads, " said he. "No violence; obey your orders. Spread out, there, boys, and let me through; I will speak with him. "

That was what he said, but it was _how_ he said it that reallymattered. Aye, Holy Joe might have been the skipper, himself, from hisair. He spoke with authority, in a deep, commanding voice, and thesquareheads instantly gave him the obedience they had refused the mate. They did not, indeed, tumble aft in the wake of the stiffs; but theydid spread out and make a lane through their midst down which Holy Joeadvanced with quick and firm step. Right up to Fitzgibbon he walked, and stopped, and said to the bucko's face, "Put away that weapon! Would you add another murder to your crimes?"

To me, to the mate and his henchmen, indeed, to all hands, it was amost astounding situation. And perhaps the most surprising element init was the fact that Holy Joe was not immediately shot or felled with ablow, and the additional fact that none of us expected him to be. 

It was the stiff, not the officer, who commanded the deck that moment. By some strange magic I could not as yet fathom, the little parson hadassumed the same heroic proportions Newman had assumed the day hechased the skipper from the poop. Oh, it was no physical change thattook place; it was rather as if the man doffed a mask and revealedhimself to us in his true self. There he stood, a full head shorterthan his antagonist, with his head tilted back to meet the larger man'seyes, and Bully Fitzgibbon quailed before his gaze. 

I watched the little man, awe-stricken. I had been bred to worshipforce, it was the only deity I knew, and Holy Joe was in my eyes thesymbol of force. He radiated force, and it was a strange and wonderfulforce. I had glimpsed this power in Newman; now, for the first time inmy life I saw it fully revealed. The only kind of force I had known orimagined was brute force, the kind of force Mister Fitzgibbonepitomized; but now, in this duel of wills that was taking place beforemy eyes, I saw another and superior power at work. It was a force ofthe mind, or soul, that Holy Joe employed; it was a moral force thatpoured out of the clean spirit of the man and subdued the brute forcepitted against him. 

"Put down that weapon!" Holy Joe repeated. 

Slowly, the mate lowered his arm. 

The parson turned to the squareheads; aye, he turned his back full uponthe bucko, and the latter made no move against him. 

"Obey your orders, men, " Holy Joe said to the sailors. "Go to yourwork as he commands. I will stay with the boy. "

The squareheads obeyed without question. They knew, just as all of usknew, that their little champion was in no danger of mishandling, atleast not at that moment. They trooped aft, heavy-footed, murmuring, but docile, and joined the stiffs at the lee braces. Holy Joe, nowalone on that deck so far as physical backing went, turned again to themate. But indeed he needed no physical backing; his indomitable spirithad cowed the bucko. 

"Your men will give you no further trouble, sir; they are at theirstations, " said he. 

It was the first time he had used the "sir. " For an instant it seemeda weakening. It gave Mister Fitzgibbon the heart to bluster. 

"I ordered you aft with the rest, " he began. "What d'ye mean----"

"I have other work to do this watch--as you know, " interrupted theparson. He said the words so solemnly and sternly they sounded like ajudgment; aye, and they nipped the rising courage of the mate. Hecould only mumble, and stammer out, "You--you refuse duty?"

Holy Joe was silent for an instant. All of us were silent. One couldhave heard a pin drop upon the deck. Then, out of the port foc'sle, adreadful sound came to our ears, a low, strangled moan. It stabbed thevitals of the most hardened of us; with my own eyes I saw the matetremble. Aye, in some way Holy Joe had sent a fear into the brute soulof Fitzgibbon; in some way he had sent a fear into the brute souls ofus all, and, at least in my case, a great wonder. The pain-filled wailof Nils, coming as it did, seemed magic-inspired to light for me auniversal truth. I felt it crudely, saw it dimly, but there it was, dramatized before my eyes, the age-long, ceaseless battle between theBeast in Man and the God in Man, the resistless power of service andsacrifice. Aye, and Holy Joe's softly spoken reply to the mate's wordsconfirmed what I saw and felt. 

"You speak of my duty, sir, " said he. "I see it--and do it!"

With that he turned on his heel and walked into the foc'sle. 

When he had disappeared something seemed to have gone from the air webreathed, something electric and vitalizing. There was an immediatelet down of the nervous tension that had gripped us, a common sigh, anda half-hysterical snigger from some fellow behind me. MisterFitzgibbon seemed to come out of a trance; he shook himself, and staredat Sails and then at Chips. He glared across the deck at us of thestarboard watch. He even swore. But there was no life to his curse, and he made no step to follow the defiant stiff into the foc'sle. Instead, he went to the job at hand, and quite obviously sought toregain mastery and self-respect by sulphuric blustering towards the menbent over the ropes. He was a defeated man. He knew it, and we knewit. 

A hand fell upon my shoulder. Newman stood behind me. 

"A brave act and a brave man, " said he. "But they will not let himkeep his triumph. " After a pause he added, "They dare not. "

CHAPTER XIV

I seized Newman's arm and led him aside, intending to impart my news. But eight bells struck, and while they were striking, Mister Lynch'svoice summoned the starboard watch to assist in the job the mate hadstarted. We hurried aft with the crowd, and I found chance to say tohim no more than, "Be careful; someone is spying upon you. Boston told me--and I sawhim. "

"Who?"

"I couldn't see. It was too dark, and he cleared out on the run. Askthe Nigger. "

When we had belayed, the watch was relieved, and Newman went aft to thewheel. Lynch kept the rest of us on the jump, as ever, and I had nochance to steal a word with the Nigger when he came forward. At fourbells I relieved the wheel. I found Captain Swope and the mate pacingthe poop with their heads together. As I took over the wheel, Newmanwhispered to me, "Keep your weather eye lifted for squalls, Jack!"

I did not need his warning; the mere presence of either of the pair wassufficient to keep any sailorman wide awake and watchful of his _p's_and _q's_ while steering her. There was nothing uncommon about the OldMan's presence; he was in the habit of appearing on the poop at allhours of the night, though he never went forward. But for the mate togive up his sleep in fair weather was unprecedented. There wassomething in the carriage and attitude of the two, as they slowly pacedfore and aft, or stood at the break staring forward, that gave me afeeling of impending disaster. Aye, I could smell trouble coming. 

Captain Swope could smell it, too. That is why he walked the deck withFitzgibbon by his side. I could feel the alertness of the man. YankeeSwope had his finger upon the pulse of his ship. A mutiny, howeversudden, would not catch the master of the _Golden Bough_ napping. Thatis what I thought as I watched him, and Boston's vague scheme becameharebrained in my eyes. 

The second mate was seldom aft during the two hours I stood at thewheel. The times he did appear, he engaged in conversation with theOld Man, beyond my hearing. But near midnight be clumped afthurriedly, bringing the tradesmen with him. The strollers happened tobe near me at the moment he appeared, and he came towards them, speaking. 

"Well, sir--he's gone, " he said. 

So I knew that Nils was dead. 

"Very good, " said Swope. "And the hands?"

"All quiet, sir. "

Mister Lynch's voice was quite respectful, but I fancied I detected init a note of contempt. 

"There was danger of trouble, even before the boy went out, " he wenton. "Morton stood by the door and heard it all. " This Morton was thesailmaker in the starboard watch. "The big Cockney in the port watchwas all for trouble, a rush aft of all hands; he said he had thebacking of my watch. The squareheads were willing; they want revenge. But the big jasper in my watch, Newman, went into the foc'sle andsquelched the scheme with a word. He clapped a stopper on theCockney's jaw, and told the squareheads there was to be no trouble. Sothere will be none, Captain. "

A black curse slid out of the skipper's mouth. Aye, the man breathedfury. 

"So--he commands for'ard, eh?" he said. "Well, I command aft. " Heseemed to think over the matter for a moment, and arrive at a decision. "Well, Mister, if it doesn't happen to-night, it may happen anothernight, " he said. "Tell your men to keep their eyes and ears open. And--better have that body carted aft, and your sailmaker fit him tocanvas. We'll dump him at dawn. "

"Very good, sir, " replied Lynch, and he went forward again. 

The Old Man and the mate immediately went into conference. They movedover to the rail, and spoke in soft tones, so I overheard nothing theysaid. A ray of light from the companion hatch fell upon them, andwatching them furtively, it seemed to me that Captain Swope was layingdown the law to Fitzgibbon, giving him certain orders, to which he atfirst objected, and then agreed. 

It looked wicked to me, this secretive conversation. My excited mindsaw evil in it. I smelled evil, tasted evil, the very skin of my bodywas prickled with the air or evil that lay upon the ship. A case ofnerves? Aye, I had nerves. Most sailormen had nerves when they werewithin sight of Captain Swope. This night he seemed to drench the shipwith evil, it poured out of him as ink from a squid, it was almostsomething tangible. Somehow I knew that Newman's long grace was ended. This black villain had prepared a net to trap my friend, and was evennow casting it. Somehow I knew that fresh wrongs and miseries were tobe heaped upon the wretched foc'sle. As I watched Captain Swope out ofthe corners of my eyes, God's truth, I was afraid to my marrow. 

Presently the second mate returned aft. "You may have your troublenow, Captain, if you wish, " he said in the same clear, carrying voicehe had before used, as he approached the skipper. "The squareheadswon't give up the body. They'll fight if we take it. They say they'lldrop him overside themselves. "

The captain appeared pleased with this news. He laughed, that soft, musical little chuckle of his that contained so much malice andcruelty. "Oh, let the dogs dispose of their own offal, Mister, " hesaid, carelessly. Then, when Lynch went down to the main deck, Swopespoke eagerly, though in low voice, to the mate. Aye, the Old Man wasgleeful, and the mate received his instructions with servile pleasure. Presently, they went below, and the yelp of the cabin boy--roused fromsleep, doubtless, by the toe of the skipper's boot--and the subsequentclink of glasses, told me they were toasting the occasion. 

I was consumed with dread. But just what to dread, I could not guess. 

The Cockney took over the helm at midnight. I hurried forward, eagerto see what was happening in the fore part of the ship, and anxious tospeak with Newman. 

The air of unease, of expectancy, which I had felt so strongly aft, waseven more evident forward. My watch, though off duty, did not go belowdirectly. Men were standing about whispering to each other. The wheeland lookout had been relieved, but the mate did not summon his watch tolabor, as was his custom; he kept to the poop, and we heard not a peepfrom him. The squareheads had taken a lamp from the lamp-locker and asack of coal from the peak, and Lindquist had the body of Nils upon theforehatch preparing it for sea-burial. He stitched away in silence, his mates watched him in silence. But it was not a peaceful calm. 

I found Newman in the port foc'sle, talking to Holy Joe. When Ientered, I heard Newman say: "They are good, simple lads--use yourauthority as a minister. Reason, command, do your best to convincethem they must be obedient. Tell them they will be the ones to sufferin case of trouble. "

"I will do my best, " the parson answered. With a nod to me, he wentout on deck. 

"Who was he?" I asked, when we were alone. 

Newman looked blank. 

"The spy, " I added. "Didn't you ask the Nigger?"

"Oh, that--I have been too busy to bother about it, " was the carelessresponse. "It really doesn't matter, Jack; I dare say it was some one_he_ set to dog my heels. " He inclined his head aft to indicate who"he" might be. 

"But--remember what happened that night on the yardarm! And--I heardsome of you talk aft there; I couldn't help hearing! I tell you, Newman, the afterguard is awake and waiting; the Old Man is afraid oftrouble. I think he is afraid you will lead the crowd, and try to takethe ship. "

"No; he is afraid I won't, " said Newman. 

I blinked. The words struck me with the force of a blow. 

The big man smiled at my puzzled expression, and his hand clapped uponmy shoulder with a firm, friendly pressure. "Strange things happen inthis ship, eh, Jack?" said he, in a kindly voice. "No wonder you arestumped, you are too young and straightforward to be alert to intrigue. You do not understand, yet you are eager to risk your skin in anotherman's quarrel? And you believe in me, eh, Jack?"

I felt embarrassed, and a little resentful. I did not like to bereminded so bluntly of my youth and inexperience. 

"You saved my life, and I don't forget a debt like that, " I growled, ungraciously. 

Newman gave a little chuckle. He knew very well it was liking, notdebt, that made me his man. 

"I want you to know, Jack, that your friendship is a strength to me, "he said, with sudden earnestness. "It is a strength and a comfort toher, too. Your unquestioning faith in me has given both of us courage. You have helped me regain my own faith in men and in right. Heavenknows, a man needs faith in this ship!"

Oh, but I was exalted by these words! I was in the hero-worship stageof life, and this mysterious giant by my side was my chosen idol. Thelady aft had quickened into activity whatever chivalry my naturecontained, and it was pure, romantic delight to be told I had servedher by loyalty to the man. Aye, I felt lifted up; I felt important. 

"You can count on me. I'll back you to the limit, " I said. Then Irushed on, eagerly, and blurted out what was on my mind. "You are indanger; I know it, I feel it. That Old Man is planning somethingagainst you. Remember that night on the yardarm! Remember the lady'swarning! Look at Nils! I tell you, we'll have to fight! You candepend upon me, I'll back you to the limit in anything. So will thesquareheads--you know how desperate and bitter they are. So will thestiffs--they are just waiting for you to say the word. Every man-jackfor'ard will follow you!"

He checked me with stern words. "Put that thought out of your mind!"he exclaimed. "There will be no mutiny, if I can prevent it. If oneoccurs, I shall help put it down. "

I was astonished and crestfallen. But after a moment he went on, morekindly. 

"I know you are thinking of my safety, lad, and I thank you. But youdo not know what you are proposing. Mutiny on the high seas ismadness, and these jail-birds for'ard would be worse masters than thosewe now have. Besides, you do not understand my situation--an uprisingof the crew whether or not led by me, is the very thing the captainexpects and wishes. You are quite right in thinking he intends to killme--and not me alone--but at present he is checkmated. I am an ableseaman, I do my work and enjoy the favor of my watch officer, and bothLynch and the tradesmen revere the lady and hate, while they fear, their master. But in case of a mutiny--why, Jack, those fellows aftwould unite, and back up Swope in anything he chose to do. Their ownsafety would depend upon it. He would have his excuse to kill. "

"But if we win--" I commenced. 

"We would be murderers, and our necks would be forfeit, " heinterrupted. "Put away the thought, lad, for only evil can come of it. A mutiny would mean disaster to the crew, to you, to me, and above all, to her. For her sake, Jack, we must prevent any outbreak. "

"For her sake?" I echoed. I was aghast. Somehow, it had neveroccurred to me that the lady might be in any danger. "You don't meanthat she would be harmed!" I exclaimed. 

He nodded, and there crept into his eyes an expression grim anddesperate. "I have cursed myself for giving way to the storm of hateand passion that brought me on board this ship, " he said, moodily. "And yet--it could not have been otherwise. "

He observed my questioning face, and added, "Swope knows we have talkedtogether, she and I. He knows he must extinguish us both if he wouldrebury for good and all the truth he thought was already buried. "

"His wife--his own wife!" I exclaimed. 

The words probed the quick. For a minute Newman's reserve was gone, and the tormented soul of the man was plainly visible. 

"It is a lie, a legal lie!" he cried. 

He calmed immediately. His self-control took charge; it was as if hiswill, caught napping for an instant, awoke, and drew a curtain thatshut out alien eyes. 

I was dumb, ashamed and sorry to have unwittingly hurt my friend. Butnow he was speaking again, in his accustomed sober, emotionless voice. 

"Of course, I trust you absolutely, Jack. I'd like to tell you thewhole story. But--I am not free to talk----"

"You don't have to tell me anything, " I blurted. "I know you are myman, and you know I am your man. "

"You _are_ a friend!" he exclaimed. "But I will not sail under falsecolors in your eyes, lad. I am a jail-bird, an escaped felon. "

"Oh, I knew all about that long ago, " I said, carelessly. 

He looked his surprise. 

"I heard that bum's story through the wall, that night in the KnittingSwede's, " I explained. "I didn't try to listen, but I couldn't helphearing him. About the frame-up they worked on you--Beulah Twigg, andMary--that's the lady, isn't it?--and the one Beasley called 'he'--Iknow 'he' is Yankee Swope. Oh, it was a dirty trick they played onyou, Newman. I'm with you in anything you do to get even. "

He shook his head, smiling. "What a young savage you are, Jack!" sayshe. "An eye for an eye, eh? But you guess wrongly, lad. Thattreachery you heard Beasley explain was but the beginning. I was sentto prison for a murder, the brutal and cowardly murder of a helplessold man. "

"I know it was a frame-up, " I cried. "And, anyway, I don't care. Iknow you're on the square, and that is all that matters with me. "

"If I were not, your faith would make me on the square, " he answered. "But--I was not guilty. I came on board the _Golden Bough_ intendingto become a murderer--but that madness is past. Now I am anxious toprevent killing--any killing. Now I am determined to preserve peace inthis ship. 

"For she is safe so long as I am alive, and he cannot easily dispose ofme so long as the crew is peaceful. You can understand that, can younot? Angus Swope is a fiend; he is more than half-insane from longindulgence of his cruel lusts. But he is cunning. I am a menace tohis safety, and now he knows that she is also a menace. But he willnot offer her violence or do her any harm while I am at large. By God, it would be his death, and he knows it. I give him no chance to strikeat me alone and openly, so he is striking at me through the crew. 

"For he must consider the attitude of his second mate. Lynch is herfriend, remember that, Jack. He is an honest man. He is bluff andharsh and without imagination, as brutal a bucko as one is likely tofind In any ship, but he is 'on the square, ' as you put it. Also, hehas more than an inkling of the true state of affairs in the ship. Heknows who I am, and he guesses why the captain fears and hates me. Iwish I could tell you what he has done, and is doing, in my--no, in herbehalf. And in spite of his bucko's code. He would not lift a fingerto aid me in case of trouble (you remember the warning he gave us thatday we were in the rigging) for he is an officer, a bucko, and I am ahand. But he would not stand for another such attempt at murder asSwope made the night we were aloft. He told Swope he would not standfor it, he would not keep silent. It was a brave thing to do, to defysuch a master. This is Lynch's last voyage in the _Golden Bough_, ashe well knows. So our canny skipper set to work his crooked wits, andfor weeks he has been fomenting a rebellion of the port watch. MisterFitz is a more pliant and obedient tool than Lynch. "

I was excited, wide-eyed. For I was suddenly seeing a light. Thewords I heard were truth, I knew. It explained what I had seen andheard that night upon the poop. This trouble that threatened was madeto order, to the captain's order; even as Newman said. 

"Good heavens--then Nils' death--and the hazing"--I could not continue. The heartlessness, the malignant cruelty of the man who had orderedthese things was too horrifying. 

"Nils' injury was unpremeditated, I believe, " said Newman, "but leavinghim die without attention or nursing was a calculated brutality, designed to inflame the boy's mates. Fitzgibbon's bitter hazing, without distinction or justice, was for the same purpose. They kept aclose eye upon the boy's condition; they evidently figured that thehour of his death would be the hour of explosion. As you know, it verynearly was--only the parson's courage averted trouble in the dog-watch, and but a little while ago I had to quiet a storm. But the danger ispassed now, I think. The little fellow's mates are naturally quiet, law-abiding fellows. "

"The squareheads may be kept quiet, " I said, "but how about the stiffs?How about Boston and Blackie?"

An expression of disgust and contempt showed in his face as I mentionedthe names. "I will attend to them if they try any of their tricks, " hesaid. 

"But they are, and have been, trying their tricks, " I persisted, "andfor some reason they are eager to have you know what they are up to. Boston told me to tell you. " I repeated Boston's gossip. "He knewabout the spy, " I said. 

He nodded. "I know; I have had an eye upon them. What Boston told youabout the treasure is quite true; the ship is carrying specie. Andthey are precious rascals, capable of any villainy; I know them well, they--they broke jail with me. But they have wit enough to know thattheir gang of stiffs could put up no sort of fight, unless backed bythe sailors in the crew. It is loot they are after, and there will betrouble from them before the ship makes port; but now we are inmid-sea, and they realize they would be quite helpless with a ship ontheir hands and no navigator. That is what they want of me. A pair ofpoisonous rats, Jack!

"But they will keep quiet. They had better. I promised them I wouldkill them both if they disobeyed me!"

I gazed at the big man with admiring awe. He spoke so coolly, was soconscious of the strength and power that was in himself. Here was thesort of man I should like to be, I thought, here was the true hardcase, no bully, no ruffian, but a man, a good man, a man so hard andbright, so finely tempered, he was to the rest of us as steel to mud. Oddly enough, as I had this thought, it also occurred to me that therewas a man in the ship who might with justice claim to be Newman's peer, another man of heroic stature--poor meek little Holy Joe. 

"If Swope does not interfere with the decent burial of that poor boy, there will be no outbreak, " added Newman. 

"He will not interfere, " I was able to assure him. I repeated theskipper's words to Mister Lynch. "'Let the dogs dispose of their ownoffal!' is what he said. "

To my surprise Newman was disturbed by this news. He stared at me, frowning. 

"Swope said that?" he exclaimed. "Now what is he up to?"

He sat thinking for a moment, then he said:

"The burial of Nils is the weak point in my defense. If Swope offersan indignity to the boy's body, even I will not be able to restrainNils' mates. Surely Swope has guessed that. I have planned to burythe lad from the foredeck just as quickly as preparations can be made;that is why Lindquist is at work on the forehatch. If Swope isoverlooking this chance, he must have something else up his sleeve. "

He got to his feet and moved toward the door. 

"Lindquist must be nearly finished. I will carry out my plan at anyhazard. Common decency demands we should not let the boy be cast intothe sea by the very men who murdered him. "

At the door we were met by Olson, one of the squareheads, come to tellNewman that all was ready for the burial. So we joined the crowd, andNils was put away, in the dead of night, by the light of one lanternand many stars. The hum of the wind aloft and the purr and slap of thewaters against the bows were his requiem. 

That scene left its mark upon the mind of every man who took part in orwitnessed it--and every foc'sle man save the helmsman saw Nils go overthe side. It was already late in the middle watch, but no man had yetgone to his sleep; and, considering the habits of sailors and thecustom of the sea, this single fact describes how disturbed was thecommon mind. 

Yet the putting away of Nils was peaceful. We knew that the mate wasnot alone upon the poop, that the men aft were alert and must know whatwas going on forward; but, despite Newman's fears, there was nointerference from that quarter. 

Nils' bier was a painter's stage, and four of the lad's shipmates heldthe plank upon their shoulders, with the weighted feet of the shroudedform pointed outboard. The rest of us, sailors and stiffs, stood aboutwith bared, bowed heads; aye, and most of us, I think, with wet eyesand tight throats. It seemed a cruel and awful thing to see one of ournumber disappear forever, and Holy Joe's words, spoken so softly andclearly, were of a kind to squeeze the hearts of even bad men. Thatparson had the gift of gab; he was a skilled orator and he could playupon our heartstrings as a musician upon a harp. 

Yet he did not preach at us, or even look at us. He wasted no words, and the ceremony proceeded with the dispatch Newman desired. All HolyJoe did was lift his face to the night and pray in simple words thatNils might have a safe passage on this long voyage he was starting. The words seemed to wash clean our minds. For the moment the mostvicious man in that hard and vicious crowd thought cleanly andinnocently. Our wrongs and hatreds seemed small and of littleconsequence. Aye, while Holy Joe prayed for the dead we stood aboutlike a group of awed children. When he was finished praying, herecited the beautiful words of the Service, and raised his hand--andthe pall-bearers tipped their burden into the sea. 

Silently we listened to the dull splash, silently we watched the fourmen lower the stage to the deck. It was over. The parson fell intostep with Newman, and the two paced up and down, conversing in lowtones. The crowd dispersed. 

Some of my watch went into the foc'sle, to their bunks. Most of themen sat about the decks, and smoked and talked in whispers. But thetopic of Nils was avoided, as was talk of mutiny. The squareheads didnot mutter threats, the stiffs did not curse. The spell of theparson's words was still upon us, and peace reigned. 

Newman had won, I thought, and danger was passed. 

I found the Nigger seated upon the fore-bitts, whetting his knife upona stone. There was something sinisterly suggestive about hisoccupation at that hour; it was the first break in the strange calmwhich had fallen upon the crew. 

"Tell me, Nigger, who's the man that's spying on the big fellow?" Isaid abruptly, as I sat down beside him. 

Nigger did not pause in his work, but he turned his battered face tome. A couple of days before he had fallen afoul of the mate's brassknuckles for perhaps the twentieth time since he had been in the ship, and his face was a mass of bruised flesh, a shocking sight, even thoughhis color hid the extent of his injuries. 

The Nigger had been, perhaps, the worst misused man in the crew--andthis notwithstanding the fact he was by far the best sailor in the portwatch. But Fitzgibbon hated "damned niggers, " especially did he hate"these spar-colored half-breeds, " as he was fond of calling thisfellow. I do believe he chose the Nigger for his watch so he mightpummel him to his heart's content. Beat him up he had, constantly, andwithout cause, and as a result Nigger had become a surly, moody man. 

"Who say dat Ah know?" demanded Nigger, in reply to my question. 

"Boston said so. "

"Dat man's too free wif his lip. Ah don't tell him Ah knows who's thespy; Ah tells him Ah knows dey is one. "

I waited patiently, for Nigger's temper would not bear pressing. Hereversed his stone, spat upon it, and resumed his monotonous whetting, then, after looking around to make sure he could not be overheard, heexplained what he did know. 

"Night befoh last Ah was hangin' 'round aft----"

"What?" I cried, surprised. "Hanging around aft--what for?"

"Dat's my business, " he told me, curtly. Then, after a moment, headded, "But Ah don't care if yoh know, because Ah knows yoh ain't nosnitch. Ah was hangin' 'round waitin' to meet Mistah Mate when heain't got them othah two debbils wif him. Ah was waitin' 'round tomeet dat man alone. And he come to de break ob de poop wif de Old Man, and de Old Man say, 'Ah got a good man watchin' every move he makes; hecan't turn around in de foc'sle wifout me knowin' it. We'll be wahnedbefoh it happens. ' Dat's what de Old Man say to Mistah Mate. And Ahknows he mus' be talkin' about de big fellow, and so Ah tells Bostonabout it. "

"But didn't you hear any names mentioned?" I asked him. 

"Dat's all Ah hears, " he answered. "Den dey went away. "

I was disappointed. The Nigger's news amounted to just nothing; wealready knew that a spy was watching Newman. But indeed this factseemed not so threatening as it had a few hours before. Newman'scareless contempt of the spy had made me contemptuous, too. And, indeed, what could a spy report against the big man that could injurehim? Newman was openly working for peace, counseling obedience. Hisactions invited scrutiny. 

I voiced this thought to my companion. 

"Well, anyway, a spy can't hurt Newman. He is doing nothing underhand, or wrong. He's keeping peace in this ship. "

Nigger gave a queer little hoot of derision. "Does Ah look likepeace?" he said. "Dis am a debbil-ship; Ah tells yoh dey can't be nopeace in dis ship nohow. "

I gestured towards the forehatch. A dozen men sat upon it, quietlysmoking and gossiping. "The squally weather is past, " I said. "Thoselads don't want trouble. A few hours ago they were all for fight--butnow they've settled down. And don't you try to start trouble! The bigfellow wants peace, the lady wants peace, we must help them to keeppeace. Don't you want to help the lady and the big fellow?"

"De lady been awful good to me, " said Nigger, in almost a whisper. "Ahgone crazy long ago if it ain't foh de lady. " He stopped his whettingand tried the edge of the blade with his thumb; then, suddenly, hereached out and clutched my wrist, and continued in a voice so chargedwith pain and grief, that I was appalled. 

"Ah'd do mos' anything foh de lady, but, Shreve, it ain't foh me, andit ain't foh any of us forward to say what's goin' to happen in disship. Ah ain't no sea-lawyer; man and boy Ah've gone to sea twentyyear, and Ah ain't nebber made no trouble in no ship, no suh. But, ohmah Lawd, yoh knows what all's happened to me in dis ship! Dey won'tlet me be a man. 'Yoh niggah, yoh black beast!' Dat's what dey callsme, and dat's what dey makes me! Ah wants peace, yoh wants peace--butdoes dey want peace? No, suh! Yoh say de ship peaceful now? Dis am adebbil-ship, and dey's a king debbil aft! And dey's a shark overside, and he wasn't waitin' foh what jus' went into the water, no, suh! Yohebber sail out East? Yoh ebber see de quiet befoh a typhoon, so quietseems like yoh can't breathe? Dat's de kind ob peace dat's on de_Golden Bough_. Ah don' want to make no trouble no time, but, oh mahLawd, when Ah does mah work right an' gets hazed foh it, when dat matemakes a beast out ob me--does yoh think Ah stand dat fohebber?"

I had no answer of good cheer. What could I say? The man's wrongswere too bitter, his hurts too constant, to be glossed over or soothedby any words I could think of. For I knew he still had weeks of brutalmistreatment ahead of him. This Nigger was a man who would not, perhaps could not, cringe and whine--and so the mate was "breaking" him. 

But after all Nigger gave me the promise I was after. "Ah nebber talkstrouble. Ah nebber wants trouble, and Ah nebber stirs up no trouble. "

CHAPTER XV

The day following Nils' death was the most peaceful day we had hadsince leaving port. 

There was less cursing and driving from the men aft, and less wranglingamong ourselves. But it was a strange peace. An air of suspense layupon the ship; we went around on tiptoe, so to speak. The quiet beforethe typhoon--aye, Nigger's phrase just about described it. We wentaround telling each other that the trouble had blown over, and nothingwas going to happen, and all the time we were watching and waiting forsomething--we didn't know just what--to happen. 

During the morning, Mister Fitzgibbon and his bullies came swaggeringforward and into the port foc'sle. Now that was a moment that verynearly saw the calm broken; for an instant I was sure there would be agrand blow-up. For the mate was after Nils' belongings, his sea-chest. Even though it was the custom to take a dead man's gear aft, thesquareheads resented the removal of Nils' effects. Especially did theyresent Fitzgibbon's part in the removal. The lads in my watch crowdedthe door connecting the rooms, and the port watch men collected on deckand glowered in at the proceedings. 

The muttered curses grew in volume. Oh, it looked like trouble, rightenough---for just a moment. Now that I was enlightened as to theskipper's game, I could see what the mate was up to. He, who waslargely responsible for Nils' death, had come forward upon this errandbecause he knew--or Swope knew--his presence would enrage Nils' mates. The Chinese steward, or the tradesmen alone, could have taken Nils'gear without raising a murmur from the squareheads, but quite naturallythey would resent Fitzgibbon's pawing over the poor lad's treasures. 

But Newman took the sting out of the mate's visit, Newman and Holy Joe, working separately, but with a common end in view. Oh, it wasrich--but you must know the foc'sle mind to understand how rich wethought it was. It was nothing subtle, nothing above our heads. Newman made us laugh, at the mate's expense, and--presto!--impendingtragedy was turned into farce. 

Fitzgibbon, himself, was overhauling Nils' gear. The tradesmen stoodidle and watchful, one near either door of the foc'sle. Out on deck, Holy Joe was busy; we could hear him urging his crowd to be quiet andpeaceful. Newman pushed through our crowd until he was fairly into theport foc'sle, and there he stood, filling the doorway, and effectuallyblocking any attempt on the part of those behind him to rush the room. 

Well, Newman looked down at the mate, and he commenced to chuckle verysoftly to himself. After a moment we began to chuckle too, everyman-jack of us. We didn't laugh out loud--not one of us, exceptNewman, who had the nerve to laugh out loud at BlackjackFitzgibbon--but, hidden behind the big fellow's back, we chuckled andsnickered readily enough. And the butt of the joke was the mate, himself. 

It was the mate's behavior. Anybody could see with half an eye thatthe fellow was looking for trouble. He expected trouble, and it madehim nervous. He was determined he would be ready for it. So he keptone hand in his coat pocket, where he carried his gun, and tried withthe other hand to cast adrift the lashings that held the chest to thebunk posts. It was a two-hand job, and he made slow work of it. Buthe wouldn't call one of his tradesmen to help him--that would have lefta door unguarded, you see. Nor could he fix his attention upon thejob; he kept twisting his ugly face this way and that way until hishead looked as if it were on a pivot. 

If Newman hadn't pointed it out, I doubt if any of us would have seenthe humor of the scene. But Newman's chuckle forced it upon us. Mister Fitzgibbon did look ridiculous--fumbling blindly with the ropes, and at the same time trying to keep both ends of the foc'sle in sightat once. 

"I'll lend you one of my hands, Mister, " said Newman, suddenly. 

The mate glanced at him, startled, but before he could open his mouth, Newman stepped past the tradesman and bent over one end of the chest. "It's neatly wrapped; the lad would have been a good sailorman, Mister, " he remarked as he undid the lashing. 

The mate realized he was at a disadvantage. He glared vindictively atthe big fellow, and snarled an oath in reply. Then he drew a knife, and committed the lubberly act of cutting through the lashing at hisend of the chest. Newman had finished undoing the rope at his end, andnow he stepped back into the doorway. 

I've never been sure, but I think Newman did it purposely. The rope'send was spliced about the handle of the chest, and when he cast therope loose, it trailed upon the floor. Newman left the bight turnedabout the bunk-post, and in such fashion that it would tighten into aclove-hitch. 

Now that it was a case of our laughing at him, the mate was eager toget out of the foc'sle with as little loss of dignity as possible. Hestarted to walk away, dragging Nils' chest after him. The clove-hitchchecked him. He jerked, with all his strength, and his strength wasenormous--there was a crack like a pistol shot as the bunk-postsnapped, the chest leaped like a live thing at the man, andFitzgibbon's heels flew out from under him. He landed upon his back, and the chest landed upon his stomach; and the wind went out of himwith an explosive _oof_!

Oh, it was rich. Aye, it was the kind of joke the foc'sle couldappreciate. We did appreciate it. We did not quite dare roar ourlaughter, but our chuckles would have shaken windows ashore. Even thetradesmen grinned--behind their hands--as they lifted the chest fromoff their boss, and him to his feet. He needed assistance, too; he hadno wind for curses, and bent double nursing the injured spot while hegrunted at the tradesmen to pick up the chest and carry it aft. Hepaid no attention to the rest of us, but as he hobbled out of thefoc'sle in the wake of the others, he gave Newman a look of suchmalignant hatred that we all knew just where he placed the blame forthe episode. 

It did not bother Newman, that look. He was on deck at the mate'sheels. Bravado, I thought at first, and I was close behind Newman, forI wanted to have a hand in any further fun. He followed the mate aft, at a respectful distance. Suddenly, I understood his action, for I sawhow warily he was watching the hands, the port watch squareheads, particularly, who were bunched about the foredeck. Newman wasn'tfollowing the mate to make sport for us; he was seeing that the mate, and the tradesmen, got aft without trouble. He was seeing to it thatno one on deck gave the bucko the excuse to start trouble that had beendenied him in the foc'sle. Aye, Newman was a wise lad; he would not becaught napping. 

Yet, despite his care, he nearly lost. Mister Fitzgibbon brushed pastCockney, who was standing alone by the forward end of the deck-house. He croaked something at the man, an oath, I thought. Cockney waiteduntil he passed by, and then suddenly whipped out his knife and drewback his arm to throw it at the mate's back. 

Newman might possibly have reached Cockney. But he did not try. Instead, he leaped in the other direction, a cat-like bound that tookhim over to the rail, as far away from Cockney as he could get. It wasHoly Joe who spoiled Cockney's knife-play. He was standing behindCockney, and, quick as Newman himself, he leaped forward and struckCockney's arm. It spoiled the aim. The knife did not go in the mate'sdirection at all; it went flashing across the deck, and stuck quiveringin the rail. 

"You fool!" cried Holy Joe. 

The mate wheeled about at that. Aye, and he had his pistol half out ofhis pocket as he turned. We could see by his face that he understoodwhat had happened; indeed, he would have been blind not to have beenable to read the meaning of the scene--Cockney still bent in theattitude of throwing, and the parson clutching his arm. I expected--weall expected--he would shoot Cockney. Surely, this was his chance, ifhe wanted trouble. 

But he hardly glanced at the man. His eyes passed him by, and dartedabout until they spotted Newman lounging over there by the rail, withhis hands in his pockets. I guess it was an unpleasant surprise tofind Newman over there, just opposite to where he expected to find him. The knife was sticking in the rail close by Newman's shoulder; therecould be no connecting it and Newman--indeed, Newman's own knife was inplain view, in its sheath. 

Newman shook his head. "Not this time, Mister, " says he. 

The mate was stumped, and enraged. His face grew actually purple withhis choked rage, as he glared at Newman. But he did not draw the gunfree of his pocket; he had no excuse to offer Newman violence, and hedid not deign to notice Cockney. He did not even seem to notice thenaked knife. Slowly his hand opened, and the butt of the weapondropped back into his pocket. Then he turned, and went aft. 

I breathed again. So, I guess, did the others. When Fitzgibbon wasbeyond ear-shot, Cockney began to damn Holy Joe for spoiling his aim. But he didn't get very far with his tirade before Newman had himshouldered against the wall of the deck-house. 

Cockney changed his tune then, and mighty quick. For Newman looked ashe had looked that day in the Knitting Swede's; aye, there was death inhis face. 

"Ow, Gaw', 'ear me. Hi didn't mean no trouble!" Cockney bleated. "Hitwas the nyme 'e called me. 'E myde me see red, that's wot. "

"Would have been a damn good job if he'd landed!" cried Boston's voice. There was an emphatic chorus of approval of this sentiment from thehands, from squareheads and stiffs both. "We'd have been rid of one o'them, anyhow!" piped up Blackie. 

The backing gave Cockney heart. "Hi'd 'ave spliced 'is bleedin' 'eartbut 'e spoiled me throw, the blarsted Bible shark, the----"

"That will do, " said Newman quietly, and Cockney shut up. 

"Cockney has the guts, anyway, " says Boston. 

"The bucko hain't; he backed down, " says Blackie. 

"That will do you, " Newman threw over his shoulder, and they shut up. 

"If I were sure--" said Newman to Cockney. He left the sentenceunfinished, but he must have looked the rest for Cockney fell into aterrible funk. 

"Ow, s' 'elp me, Hi didn't mean no trouble. Hit was the nyme 'ecalled--'e called me old mother hout o' 'er blinkin' nyme, that's wot!Hi didn't mean for to do it--but me temper--the wy the blighter's usedus blokes--hand the nyme on top o' that----"

"Well, remember, if I thought for a moment--" broke in Newman. 

I thought Cockney would flop at the big fellow's feet this time. Buthe recovered quickly enough when Newman turned away, without furtherwords, and without offering to thump him. He slouched forward, andimmediately became the hero of the hour with the gang. Aye; I was evena bit envious. It took a hard case to heave a knife at a bucko--evenat his back. 

"But why didn't he shoot Cockney?" I asked Newman. "Didn't he see him?"

The big man glanced at Holy Joe, and smiled. "Perhaps he didn't wantto see him, " he replied. 

And I was so thick-headed I didn't understand. But it really was apeaceful day. After Nils' chest went aft, we might have been acomfortable family ship so little were we troubled by the afterguard. Lynch, of course, kept his watch busy while it was on deck, but hedidn't haze; and Fitzgibbon all but forgot he had a watch. It was aqueer rest. It got upon my nerves, this waiting for something--Ididn't know what--to happen. 

It carried over into the night, this unusual quiet. Aye, Captain Swopekept the deck that night in the first watch, as well as Fitzgibbon, andnot a single man was damned or thumped. When we turned out for themiddle watch, we found the port watch lads crowing that they had farmedaway their hours on deck. 

Well, we didn't farm, by a long shot. Trust Lynch to keep hands busy. It was rule number one with him. He sweated us up in the usual style, yet his manner was milder than usual and he didn't lay a finger on eventhe most lubberly of the stiffs. Aye, for the first time during thevoyage--perhaps for the first time in the life of the ship--a full daypassed in the _Golden Bough_ and not a man felt the weight of a boot ora fist. It was an occasion, I can tell you!

Yet, for all of the afterguard's surprising gentleness, that mid-watchwas a nightmare to me. Newman disappeared. 

Ever since the night at the beginning of the voyage when Captain Swopetried to snap us off the yardarm, I made it a practice to stick closeto the big fellow during the night watches. I owed him my life, and, anyway I was eager to give him the service of a friend, of a mate. Iwas always dreading that Swope would try again some dark night, andwith better success. It is so easy to do things in the dark, you see;get a man separated from the watch, beyond the reach of friendly eyes, give him a crack on the head and a boost over the rail, and then whatproof, what trace, have you? Just a line in the logbook, "Man lostoverboard in the night. " Aye, many a lad--and many an officer--has hadjust that happen to him. 

So it was that in the night watches I became Newman's shadow. It wasliterally shoulder to shoulder with us, we handed the same lines, bentover the same jobs. Newman never mentioned it, never asked me to stickclose, but I knew he welcomed the attention. He knew the danger ofwalking alone in the dark in that ship. Mister Lynch kept his word andnever again sent either of us aloft at night. In fact, the second matedid more than that; from that night on, whenever Newman had a nightwheel, Lynch stayed aft on the poop during the trick. Oh, there was nofriendship between the two; I know that for certain. Lynch was anofficer, and Newman just a hand. But he was a square man, and he wasseeing to it that Newman got a square deal, at least in his watch. And, I guessed, the lady had something to do with Lynch's attitude. She was not friendless in the cabin, as I had discovered. 

This night Newman had no wheel. Neither had I. During the first halfof the watch we touched elbows. As usual, the second mate worked sailand kept us dancing a lively jig. He made work, Lynch did. He wouldwalk along the deck and jerk each buntline in passing--and then orderlads aloft to overhaul and stop the lines again. He would command atug on this line, a pull on that; no sail was ever trimmed fine enoughto suit him. Oh, aye, he was but following his nature and training; hecould not bear being idle himself, and he knew that busy men don'tbrood themselves into trouble. And running a watch ragged washell-ship style. 

We were aft on a job--brailling in the spanker, I recall--when I missedNewman. An instant before we were together, we had handed the sameline; suddenly he was gone from my side. At first I thought he hadpassed around to the other side of the mizzenmast, for we were coilingdown gear that had been disarranged during the job, and I was notworried. But when the second mate ordered us forward to another job, my friend was not with the gang. 

The second mate left one of his tradesmen aft, and during the remainderof the watch kept us forward of the waist of the ship. He drove us, kept us jumping, at perfectly useless jobs on the head sails. It wasas plain as the nose on my face that he was purposely keeping usforward. Something was going on, aft there by the boat skids, by thebreak of the poop; it was a moonless night, but once or twice I sawshadows flitting about the main deck. 

I was in a quandary. Something was going on aft--but what? Newman wasmissing. The bucko knew he was absent from the gang, he must haveknown. Yet he ignored his absence. Was it treachery? Was Newman introuble? Had he and I been mistaken in our judgment of Bucko Lynch?Oh, I was tormented with fear--and with doubt. I wanted to gallop aftand lend him a hand, succor him, at least help him to put up a goodfight. But I wasn't sure he was in trouble, that he would welcome myadvertising his disappearance. Perhaps he was keeping a rendezvous, with the second mate's aid. 

That was what the other lads thought. Oh, aye, they missed him too. But they didn't have wit enough to realize that Lynch also had sharpeyes; they thought Lynch didn't know Newman was gone. They thought itwas a great joke, a score against the cabin. They thought Newman hadboldly slipped away from work to meet the lady. 

"The Big Un's queenin', b'gawd, right under the Old Man's nose!"That's how Boston put it. 

I did nothing. I made no break. Luckily. At seven bells, Lynchmarshaled us aft again, to set the spanker this time. As we worked, Newman slipped into the group as quietly and unobtrusively as he hadslipped out nearly two hours before. Coiling down gear, I discoveredthat the running part of the spanker vang was off the pin, and trailingover the side. It dropped down past the open and lighted porthole ofone of the cabin berths. Whose berth? Well, I thought that Boston hadthe right of it. Newman had been "queenin', " with his feet in theocean, so to speak. 

But he had been up to something else, as well. As he and I walkedforward, after the watch was relieved, we were overtaken by Lindquist, who was coming from the helm. 

"Vat you ban doing mit da longboat to-night?" he asked Newman, curiously. 

"Nothing, lad. You must have dreamed at your Sybeel--understand?" wasNewman's prompt reply. 

It took a moment to filter into the squarehead's mind. But he got it. "So--_ja_, it ban dream; I see noddings, " he said. 

"And you say nothing?"

"_Ja_, even to mineself I say noddings, " promised Lindquist. 

At the foc'sle door, Newman placed a detaining hand upon my shoulderand held me back. 

"Was there much comment among the hands?" he asked. 

I told him what Boston had said, and that it was the common opinion. 

"That will do no harm, " he remarked. "So long as they did not see, orguess--yes, it is a good blind. "

I was a little resentful, and showed it. "You know I don't want you totell me anything you don't want to tell me, but I think you might havedropped a hint In my ear. How was I to know that the greaser hadn'tplayed a trick on you, and given you over to the Old Man? I don't knowwhat game you're playing, and if you don't want to tell me I don't wantto know--but I tell you I came pretty near spoiling it, whatever it is. I was on the verge of going aft and raising a row, just to find outwhat had become of you. "

"Jack, it isn't my mistrust that keeps you in the dark, " says he. "Youknow I trust you absolutely. But I cannot explain--others have thatright. But, lad, I can tell you this--things are moving, aft there, and the sky is brighter for me--and for her. And, you must not worryabout me if this should happen again, some other night. I shall besafe; don't come hunting me, it might ruin everything. You will knowsoon just what is happening. And you already know, Jack, how I countupon you--and she, too. If things should go wrong, if he outwits me, it is your head and arm I count upon to aid her. "

"Anything, any time, " was my eager response. "Oh, I want to help. "

I found my hand being tightly squeezed in his, and there was a littlecatch in his voice. "A thick-and-thin friend, eh, Jack? I've learnedsomething about friendship since I have known you. "

CHAPTER XVI

This strange peace, this interlude of quiet, lasted for several days. It was a curious time, a period of uneasy suspense for me, for I couldfeel hell simmering beneath the smooth surface of the ship's life, butI could not see it, or guess when or where it would bubble over. 

Even Lynch toned down his adjectives, and slackened his driving. Hewas commanded to do so by Captain Swope while the watch was withinhearing. The Old Man told him to "go easy with those boys, Mister;we've made it too hard for them this voyage. " Aye, that was a nicebitter pill for Bucko Lynch to swallow before his watch; oh, the ladsenjoyed it, I can tell you. 

Fitzgibbon, the roaring lion, became the bleating lamb. He hardlyworked his men during those days, let alone haze them. He let Niggeralone. He stopped swearing at Holy Joe. Why, a man might fancy fromhis manner that he had become afraid of his men. Aye, a man mightfancy from their behavior that the lot of them aft possessed a suddenfear of the crew. Even the tradesmen were publicly ordered to treatthe men with civility. But I didn't fancy they were afraid. I knewbetter. It was part of the game Swope was playing. 

"I took the trick when Nils died, " explained Newman, when I asked himwhat the new program meant, "and now our sweet captain is dealing a newhand, from a cold deck. He is nursing the scum, because this time hewill strike through them, instead of through the squareheads. "

By "scum, " Newman meant our unsavory mob of stiffs. And indeed theywere being "nursed, " and without even suspecting it. Inevitably, theunwonted gentleness of the men aft was interpreted as weakness andfear, and of course their stiffs' courage mounted and slopped over. Aye, he was a canny brute, was Captain Swope; he knew just how to playsuch a crowd as we were. And I think he thoroughly enjoyed such acat-and-mouse game. 

There was valorous talk in the foc'sle, and half-veiled insolence ondeck. These cringing stiffs began to swank and swagger. They began tobluster openly about what they could do and would do; they began totell each other how easy it would be to "dump 'em over, and take chargeo' the hooker. " That's the sort they were. It took bucko methods tokeep them decent. 

Blackie and Boston were plainly jubilant over this turn of events. Nowthey were fairly shrewd men, even if they were damned rascals, and onewould have thought they possessed sufficient insight to at least besuspicious of the skipper's sudden 'bout-face. But they were not. They were just as convinced as the rest of the stiffs that theafterguard had suddenly become afraid of the foc'sle. Just lack ofimagination, I suppose; I've read that it is usually a characteristicof professional criminals. 

They ceased hinting darkly and whispering in corners, and came outfiat-footed with their great news. Aye, and it was a weighty argumentwith the stiffs. Even though they knew about it already--as most ofthem did--it was a delight to talk about it openly. There was money inthe hooker. That is what made their tongues wag. Aye, money; kegs andkegs of shining trade dollars, aft in the lazaret, to be had for thetaking by lads with stiff backbones. And their backbones were stiffenough for the job. So Boston and Blackie told them, so Cockney toldthem, so they told each other. 

It surprised me that Newman ignored this state of affairs among thestiffs. He could have clapped stoppers on Boston's and Blackie's jawsby just telling them to shut up. They stood in such awe and fear ofhim. He could have as easily silenced Cockney; aye, and the gang, too. We all stood in awe of him. There wasn't a man forward who would dreamof opposing him openly. 

But Newman was contemptuous of stiffs' talk. "Oh, let them blow offsteam, " says he. "Big talk, small deeds; that's their caliber, Jack. They'll have their sauciness hammered out of them quickly enough whenSwope plays his next card. "

"Aye, but what if Blackie and Boston, or that Cockney, make trouble?They are bossing the stiffs. "

"Those two jail-birds know what I will do to them if they go beyondtalk, " said Newman. "As for that Whitechapel beauty, he is quiteharmless, I think. They would not follow him into a fight; they knowhe is scum, like themselves, for all his bluster. They would followme, or you, if we led the sailors aft. But so long as the sailors arequiet, there is no danger. That scum would not fight alone. And, asyou know, our little friend has his Norsemen eating out of his hand. "

This last was certainly true. By "our little friend" Newman meant HolyJoe. The squareheads idolized him. For one thing, his being a parsongave him, from the beginning, standing with them. They were decent, simple villagers, with an inbred respect for the cloth. But moreimportant, was the service he had rendered their dead shipmate. Theywere not the men to forget a thing like that, or fail to be impressedby the fine courage Holy Joe had exhibited when he faced the angry mate. 

Now there was a curious thing. The decent men in the crew gave HolyJoe unstinted admiration; his bravery that day clinched his authorityover the squareheads. They would have done almost anything for him;aye, they loved the little man, and admired him. Yet the stiffs werenot much impressed by what Holy Joe did to the mate. I guess theysimply couldn't understand it. But Cockney's trying to stick a knifeinto the mate's back quite captured their fancy. Aye, that attemptedmurder was a great deed; it made Cockney their hero. I won't say thatthe rest of us damned Cockney. We were, after all, foc'sle savages, and our hatred of Fitzgibbon was very bitter. But it took the stiffsto honor Cockney for that knife-play. 

Well, Newman might dismiss this fellow with a contemptuous word, but Icouldn't. Cockney had become a rival I must reckon with. I didn'tlike the way he lorded it over the stiffs in my watch, even if thestiffs themselves did like it. I didn't like the noise he made in thestarboard foc'sle, or the hard case airs he assumed. I was number onebully in my watch, and intended to remain so. I was, in fact, cock ofthe crew (Newman excepted, of course) and I thought that Cockney'schesty boasting was in a way a defiance of me. 

No doubt I was right. As I discovered in time, Cockney had a goodreason behind his blatant tongue. It was necessary that he accustomsome of the crew, even a few stiffs if no more, to follow hisleadership. But he couldn't blow big in his own foc'sle, because HolyJoe wouldn't allow it; and he didn't dare lay a curse or a finger onthe little parson because he knew if he did the squareheads would jumphim in a body. So he ventured into my bailiwick, hoping, I suppose, that the open support of Boston and Blackie, his size, which matched myown, and his newly got reputation as a bad man with a knife, wouldbluff me. 

It didn't. His dirty and violent talk sickened and wearied me, andjust as soon as I had a reasonable pretext I ordered him out of thefoc'sle. This wasn't as high-handed as it sounds, for Cockney had thegall one afternoon to leave the deck during his watch out, and breakinto my watch's rest with his obscene gabble. 

He was disposed to dispute my order, and the stiffs backed him up withtalk. So I turned out and turned to. I slapped a few stiffs, andthrew Cockney through the door. He invited me out on deck, and ofcourse I accepted. We had a nice set-to before all hands. Even thetradesmen came forward to see the sport. 

Well, Newman's estimate of the man was correct. Cockney was scum, yellow scum. His fighting methods were as foul as his tongue; he triedall of his slum tricks, the knee, the eye-gouge, the Liverpool-butt, and when he found I was up to them, and the stronger man in theclinches, he wanted to call enough. But I was too incensed by thistime to let him escape easily, and I battered him all about theforedeck. Finally he turned tail and fled aft. Of course I did notpursue beyond the deck-house. His fleeing the battle really pleased memore than knocking him out. I felt sure that such an ignominiousdefeat would cook his goose with the stiffs. 

It did. Boston and Blackie stopped grooming Cockney for mob leader;they had seen that he lacked guts in a pinch, and that finished himwith them. The other stiffs still welcomed and admired him (for, although he was a good sailor, he was one of them at heart, and, afterall, hadn't he tried to stick the mate?), but he was no longer theirhero. Aye, it was quite a fall for Cockney; he lost a lot of face whenhe ran away from my fists. He kept out of my foc'sle thereafter. 

I mentioned that this fight started because Cockney came into ourfoc'sle during his watch on deck. Now, that illustrates the surprisingslackness of discipline in the port watch. Just a few days before themate was ready to shoot Holy Joe for going below during his watch ondeck, but he never bothered his head about Cockney's much worseoffense. In fact, during these strange days he seemed not to botherhis head about anything his men did. He promenaded on the poop duringhis watches on deck, alone, or arm-in-arm with the captain, and justabout left the ship to sail herself. No wonder the stiffs commenced tobelieve they could take liberties; in fact, they could take them in themate's watch, and get away with it. 

But they couldn't take liberties in the second mate's watch. You betthey couldn't! Bucko Lynch curbed his vocabulary and stopped using hisfists, as the captain ordered, but he didn't stop working his men. There was no slackness in his watch; he kept us up to scratch. Thatmade the starboard stiffs especially bitter against him. They feltthemselves cheated of the easy times Fitzgibbon's men were having. 

But the sailors didn't feel that way about it. They were worried, justas I was. The sailors knew ships as the stiffs did not. They could_feel_ ships. Those dumb squareheads could not reason it out as Icould (with Newman's assistance), but they could feel the undercurrentof intrigue. They were glad to escape the thumpings to which the mateshad accustomed them; but they were not satisfied with the new order forthey could feel that this strange peace was unreal, unhealthful. Aye, the calm before the typhoon. They felt it just as I felt it, just asNigger felt it. As for pessimistic Nigger, so strictly did he mind hisown business these quiet days he was like a dumb man, a silent brownshadow. But he went on sharpening his knife. 

To heighten the squareheads' foreboding, and to scare the wits half outof us all, Nils' ghost visited the ship. You know what sort of men wewere in that foc'sle; save Newman and the parson, we were ignorant men, and superstitious. We all believed implicitly in ghosts, I, and thesquareheads, Nigger and Cockney, and even the stiffs who had not thesea in their blood. Aye, even Blackie and Boston believed in haunts. It seemed reasonable to us that Nils should come back to the scene ofhis earthly misery. Reasonable, and fearsome. 

Nils came at night, in the middle watch, always in the middle watch. That circumstance might have aroused suspicion in sceptical minds. Butwe were not sceptical. 

Lynch had us busy forward this night. Aye, it had become a practicewith him to keep us busy in the fore part of the ship during the nightwatches. One of his tradesmen, Connolly, kept the poop watch for him. No, we did not think this arrangement odd; we worked too hard to think. 

Newman had the first wheel. At four bells, a lad named Oscar went aftto relieve the big fellow. A moment later he reappeared forward, wild-eyed and spluttering his own lingo. Oh, he was a frightenedsquarehead. All we could understand of his speech was the word "Nils. "

The word was enough. We didn't need the commotion and consternationamong Oscar's countrymen to help us interpret. He had seen Nils. 

"What's the matter with you?" demanded Lynch. 

Lindquist answered for Oscar. Nils was at the wheel. Oscar had goneaft to relieve Newman, and he had seen his dead shipmate at the wheel, steering the ship. He was afraid to relieve a ghost. 

"Oh, rot!" says Lynch. "Here, come along aft with me, the lot of you. We'll lay this ghost. "

Oscar did not want to go aft again, but he had to. It was better toface a ghost than disobey Bucko Lynch. That is what the rest of usthought, too. We were all afraid to go aft, but more afraid not to. So we huddled close upon the second mate's heels, and clumped noisilyupon the deck, as though to rout the wraith with our racket. 

Perhaps our racket did send Nils away. It certainly aroused the mensleeping in the cabin, and the roundhouse. But we saw Newman at thehelm, not Nils. 

"Well, m'son, where's your ghost?" demanded Mister Lynch. 

Oscar was still too frightened to muster his scant English, butLindquist talked for him. "He say like dis, sir, Nils ban at da wheelwhen he koom aft, oond den he yump vrom der wheel oond run for'ard yustlike da time da captain thoomp him. "

"Rot!" says Lynch. "My man, have you permitted a ghost stand yourtrick at the wheel?" This last to Newman. 

"Hardly a ghost, sir, " answered Newman. We could not see his face, butfrom his tone I knew he was smiling. "Do I look like one? Not yet, Ihope. I was just about to turn over the wheel to the lad, sir, when heshied--at the shadow of the mizzen stays'l I think--and rushed awayforward. "

"What is wrong, Mister?" inquired the captain's soft voice. Aye, weall jumped as if it were the ghost talking. Captain Swope, with MisterFitzgibbon behind him, had popped up from below as quietly as If hewere a ghost. 

"Nothing wrong, Captain, " replied Mister Lynch. "One of my jaspersdeclared he saw the little squarehead's ghost dancing about the poop, and now the lot of them have nerves. I brought them aft to teach thembetter in a peaceful way. "

This was a straight dig at the Old Man's "be gentle" orders, but itdidn't pierce his skin. Swope laughed, genuinely amused, his soft, rippling laugh that always frightened us so much. "Peaceful, eh? Bythe Lord, Mister, it sounded like an army overhead. And it was no morethan a ghost!" He peered aft, and discerned Newman at the wheel, recognizing him by bulk, I guess, for the binnacle lights were halfshuttered and Newman's face invisible. But I'm sure he recognized him, for he pursed his lips in a way I had seen him do before when he lookedat Newman. He strolled away forward, to the break of the poop, glancing this way and that, and back again to the hatch. "If it weremoonlight, I'd say your man was touched, " says he to Lynch. "But Isuppose he was half asleep and dreaming. "

"I'll wake him up and work the dreams out of him, " promised MisterLynch. 

"But no hazing, Mister. The men are in bad enough temper as it is. "

Aye, thus to Lynch, as though the rest of us were beyond ear-shot. Butall the time his eyes were upon us, measuring the effect of his words. Oh, he was a sly beast, a "slick one, " as Beasley said. 

"Which is the lad who beheld this--ghost?" he added. 

The second mate shoved Oscar forward so that he stood in the light thatstreamed up from the cabin. 

"So one little ghost scared you, eh?" says he to poor trembling Oscar. "Why, my man, if all the ghosts in this ship were to begin walkingabout, we living men would be crowded into the sea. " With that he wentbelow, laughing, as though he had just made a fine joke, and leaving usmore frightened than ever. 

The mate went below again also, but he wasn't laughing. We sensed thatthe news worried Fitzgibbon, and that strengthened our conviction. Blackjack Fitzgibbon had cause for worry. So we thought. Wasn't ithe, as well as Swope, who mishandled the boy to his death?

That ended the scene aft. Oscar relieved the wheel; he had to. Lynchput the rest of us to work again, and during the balance of the watchwe saw ghosts in every corner. 

When we went below at eight bells, we held a grand talk in the foc'sle, a parliament that practically all hands attended. Aye, we were quiteconvinced that the ghost was abroad. Oscar stuck to his yarn, andembellished it, and left no room in our minds for doubt. Newmanlaughed at us, and denied the presence of a spook on the poop; thatdone he turned in and slept. But his evidence didn't shake our belief. Oscar gave too many particulars. 

The compass had not been shuttered when he went aft to relieve thewheel, and he had seen Nils standing in the light. He couldn't bemistaken. "Yust as plain like a picture. " He knew him by his boyishstature, by his beardless features, by his clothes. He was wearing hisScotch-plaid coat and red tam-o'-shanter; Oscar couldn't be mistaken inthem, because he had helped Nils pick them out in a Glasgow slops shop"last ship. " Didn't his mates remember those togs?

His mates remembered them. So did the rest of us. That coat and caphad hung on the wall opposite Nils' bunk all during his illness. Hewas very proud of these colorful garments. Of course, we told eachother, he would appear in them after death. And, of course, he wasbound to come back. Didn't murdered men always come back? So weassured each other; and the older men began spinning yarns about otherghosts in other ships. Aye, we talked so much we were afraid to turnin. Captain Swope's words about the ghost crew in the _Golden Bough_impressed us mightily. We told each other that many men must have diedcruel deaths in this notorious hooker; very likely Nils' spirit was butone of many. Some of the lads recalled mysteries of the night thatthey had encountered in this ship, shadowy things melting intodarkness, strange noises, and the like; and always they had seen orheard these things aft, around the break of the poop or beneath theboat skids--in just about the spot where Nils had been beaten up, firstby the skipper and then by the mate. Aye, Nils gave us the creeps. Another herald of storm, I felt. 

Next night Nils did not walk, though the lads in both watches insistedthey saw and heard things that were not right or natural. The nightfollowing in the midwatch--our midwatch--half the watch swore they sawhim flit across the main deck and disappear behind the roundhouse. 

The next night marked Nils' last and most startling appearance. In theheart of the middle watch, while my mates were sound asleep, the ghostwalked into the empty port foc'sle. 

That is, the port foc'sle should have been empty, since the mate hadthe watch out. But it happened that Nigger, coming from the wheel, seized an opportunity to slip into the deserted room for a quietsmoke-O. It was a liberty he was safe in taking, now that the buckomate had reformed. 

My bunk in the starboard foc'sle was handy to the door connecting thetwo rooms, and when he burst terror-stricken through that door myunconscious head was right in front of him. I awakened abruptly todiscover Nigger clawing my hair; aye, and when I looked up and saw hisconvulsed face and gleaming, bulging eyes, I knew at once he had seenNils. 

He was too scared to talk; he could only stutter. "Gug-gug-gug-God!"But he pointed into the other foc'sle. 

Well, my bowels were water, as the saying is, but nevertheless I turnedout promptly. I had to. Other men were waking up. Even Newman, inthe bunk opposite, had his eyes open; and he was regarding me in a verycurious way. So I couldn't hold back. I was bully of the crowd, and Iwould not let the crowd think I was afraid to face anything, even aghost. 

Out I rolled, and into the doorway I stepped. There I stopped. God'struth, I was frozen to the spot with terror. For Nils' shadow layathwart the floor of the port fo'sle, his moving shadow. It was thisshadow coming in through the deck door that had frightened Nigger. Herecognized the shadow as Nils because a tam-o'-shanter crowned thesilhouette, and Nils had owned the only tam on board. 

I recognized that awful shadow, too. But I saw more than the shadow. I saw a white hand appear on the door jamb. A ghost-like hand, it wasso white and small, a patch of plaid cloth, a little bare, white footlifting above the sill, and then the tam and the white face beneath it. Aye, that white face with its great, staring eyes!

So much I saw during the instant I stood in the doorway. Then Newmanpushed past me and crossed the port foc'sle in a bound. He joined thewhite face in the other doorway, and disappeared with it into the outerdarkness. 

Not a man save I--and Newman--had had nerve enough to turn out. Not aman save I--and Newman--had seen that white face. Even Nigger had notseen it; he had run out on deck through the starboard door. But mywatch-mates were awake and eager. "Is it gone?" they chorused. 

"Yes, " I answered gruffly. I rolled into my bunk, and turned my faceto the wall. My wits were still spinning from shock, and I didn't wantto answer questions. 

"Where did Big 'Un go?" came from Blackie's bunk. 

"How do I know? Stow the guff, the lot of you; I want to sleep. "

But I didn't sleep. I lay there thinking about the face I had seen. Nils' shadow, Nils' clothes--and the lady's face! The ghost that hadscared all hands was the lady dressed in Nils' clothes!

CHAPTER XVII

The lady brought Newman bad news. As I afterwards learned, the stewardoverheard a conversation between the captain and the mate, and reportedit to her, and she immediately risked her masquerade forward to carrythe tale to Newman. 

During the morning Newman said to me, "Watch your step to-day, Jack. Trouble brewing. "

I watched my step, but not until the middle of the afternoon watch, when I went aft to relieve Newman at the wheel, did I see anyindications of a coming breach of the afterguard's own peace. I sensedit then, before I saw it. Aye, as soon as I stepped upon the poop Ismelled the old air. The very carriage of the officers said that theold times were back again. 

Newman gave me the course. I repeated it aloud, as is the custom. Then he whispered, hurriedly. 

"I think he intends to lock me up. Help Deakin keep peace for'ard. Remember, lad, my life--and hers--may depend upon it. "

He started forward. I wanted to call after him, run after him, ask hima score of questions and directions. 

But I was chained to my task. I dare not leave the wheel. Neitherdare I call out. For Captain Swope had appeared on deck. He stoodlounging against the companion hatch, staring aft, in our direction. Bucko Fitzgibbon stood by his side. They had suddenly appeared frombelow as the helm was changing hands. 

Aye, and as soon as I clapped eyes upon them I knew that at last hellwas about to bubble over. They had thrown off the masks of meeknessthat so ill fitted them. Fitzgibbon was truculence personified. Theexpression in Swope's face when he looked at Newman was so terrible itmight almost of itself make a lad stop breathing--an expression ofgloating, pitiless, triumphant cruelty. 

Lynch, in charge of the deck, stood apart from the others, but he toowas looking aft, not at me, but at Newman. There was something in hisbearing also which declared plainly that some ugly thing was about tohappen. 

Yet Newman was permitted to pass the companion hatch withoutinterference. In fact, the pair turned their backs to him. I had, foran instant, the wild hope that Newman was mistaken in his fears. Butonly for an instant. Because, when Newman neared the forward end ofthe poop, the two tradesmen of the port watch suddenly popped up fromthe ladder and confronted him. Sails carried a sawed-off shotgun inthe crook of his arm, and Chips had a pair of handcuffs dangling in hisgrasp. 

Newman stopped short. Who would not, with the muzzle of a shotguncarelessly pointed at his breast? No order to halt was needed. 

Suddenly I saw through the skipper's game. Aye, and the devilish craftof it horrified me, and wrung a cry of warning from my throat. Forwhen Newman halted, Swope and Fitzgibbon turned towards him, and, whileSwope continued to lounge against the hatch, the mate closed in behindNewman, and I saw a revolver in his hand. At the same time, the manwith the shotgun said something to Newman, something that angered thebig fellow, I could tell from the way his shoulders humped and his bodytensed. Squarely behind him stood the mate. 

Oh, it was a clever murder Yankee Swope had planned, a safe murder! IfNewman made any motion that could be interpreted as resisting arrest, and was shot in the back and killed--why, the officer who shot him wasperforming his duty, and an unruly sailor had received his deserts!That is the way the log would put it, and that is the way folks ashorewould look at it. 

The second mate saw through the scheme, also. I am sure he had noprevious knowledge of it, for an expression of surprise andconsternation showed in his face, and he threw up his arm in a warninggesture. But it was I who warned Newman. I sang out lustily, "Look out--behind you!"

Newman looked behind him. He threw back his head and laughed. Itamused him to see the mate standing there so sheepishly, with hispistol in his hand. But I did not laugh, for Yankee Swope was staringat me, and there was fury in his face. God's truth, my hair stood up, and my toes crawled in their boots! Oh, I knew I had let myself in forit with that warning shout. 

But if Newman laughed, he did not venture to move. He, too, sawthrough the skipper's plan, and by his action promptly defeated it. Helaughed, but he also elevated his hands above his head to show hisunarmed condition and his pacific intent. Then, ignoring the mate, hespoke to Captain Swope. 

"Am I to consider myself under arrest, Captain?"

Swope turned his face to the speaker, and glad I was to be free of hisgaze. He was a furious man that moment; I could see him biting hislips, and clenching and unclenching his hands from excess of anger. Yet he answered Newman in a soft, even voice, and in the samehalf-bantering vein the big fellow had used. He was a strong man, wasSwope; he could control his temper when he thought it necessary. 

"Yes, my man, you may consider yourself under arrest!" he said. 

"Then you will notice I offer no resistance, " added Newman. "I amunarmed, and eager to obey all legal commands of my captain. Shall Ilower my arms, and permit this gentleman to fasten the irons upon mywrists?"

"No less eager to break into limbo, than to break out of it--_eh_?"commented the captain. "Yes, I grant you permission to behandcuffed--but not that way!--turn around, and place your handstogether behind your back. "

Newman promptly complied with the directions, and the carpenter steppedforward and slipped on the cuffs. 

"Lock those irons tightly, Connolly, " Swope directed the tradesman. "We have to deal with a desperate man, a tricky man, a damnedjail-bird, Connolly. Squeeze those irons down upon his wrists. Itdoesn't matter if they pinch him. "

From where I stood I could not see, but I could imagine the steel ringsbiting cruelly into my friend's flesh. I felt a rage against thecaptain which overcame the sick fear of what he might do to me. But myrage was impotent; it could not help Newman. 

Mister Lynch tried to help him; and by his action indicated plainlywhat was his position in the matter of the arrest. He crossed thedeck, and examined the prisoner's wrists. 

"These irons are too tight, and will torture the man, " he said to thecaptain. "In my judgment, sir, it is not necessary to secure him inthis fashion. "

"In my judgment it is, " was Swope's bland response. Then he added, "And now, Mister Fitzgibbon, and you, Mister Lynch--if you will escortthis mutinous scoundrel below to the cabin, I'll see that this affairis properly entered in the logbook, and then we will put him in a placewhere he cannot work further mischief. Connolly, you and your mate maygo for'ard. "

A moment later I was alone on the poop. So quickly and quietly had theaffair been managed that none of the watch on deck seemed to be awareof it. They were busied about the fore part of the ship at the variousjobs Lynch had set them to. But the tradesmen of the watch were not insight, and I had no doubt they were forewarned, and had joined the portwatch tradesmen before the cabin, to guard against any possible trouble. 

I wondered what to do. Do something, I felt I must. If I sang out andinformed the watch, the afterguard would reach me and squelch my voicelong before my mates could lay aft. And indeed, laying aft in a bodywas what the crew must not do. That would be trouble, mutiny perhaps, and Newman's injunction was to keep the peace. 

I could do nothing to help my friend. But I felt I must do something. The cabin skylights were open, for it was tropic weather, and a murmurof voices ascended through the opening. I could not distinguish words, but I felt I must know what they were saying to Newman, or about him. So I took a chance. I slipped the wheel into the becket, and crept tothe edge of the skylights. 

I could peek into only a narrow section of the saloon, for I did notdare shove my face into the opening. They would have seen me. But Icould hear every voice, every word, and my ears gave me an accuratepicture of the scene below. 

The first voice I heard was the voice of one of my foc'sle mates, andhe was giving testimony against Newman. 

"'E was in the syl-locker mykin' hup to 'er, " the speaker said, "an'tellin' as 'ow 'e'd lead the crew arft, and kill the hofficers, andtyke charge 'imself. That's wot 'e says, s' 'elp me!"

"Ah, yes, he was making up to her, eh? And plotting mutiny? And mywife lent herself to such a scheme, did she?" This came in Swope'svoice, soft, purring, the very tone an insult. "So my wife was in thesail-locker with this convict, and he was making up to her? Well, well!"

"You know that creature is lying, Angus!" broke in another voice. Aye, and I very nearly gave myself away by craning my head to see thespeaker. For this was the lady's voice, hot with anger and resentmentand loathing. "You know very well why I met Roy in the sail-locker;you know very well we were planning to avoid bloodshed, not cause it. "

"What are you doing here?" exclaimed the captain, with a savage edge tohis words. "This is a man's business, madam! Return to your room atonce. Mister Fitzgibbon, take her to her room!"

There was the sound of movement below. A chair scraped. Then Lynch'svoice rang out sharply, "Stop that, Fitz!" The lady's voice said, "Youneed not touch me, I am going. " A second later she spoke again, from adifferent point, and I judged her to be in the doorway of herstateroom. "You, at least, Mister Lynch, will bear witness that I denythese charges against myself and against--against him. They are lies. This spy is lying, my husband is lying. I know the truth. Do you hearme, Angus? I know the truth, and you cannot silence me with lies!" Adoor closed. 

"Now we will continue our examination, " said Captain Swope. 

Just then I heard a faint slatting of canvas aloft. I sped for thewheel, and when, an instant later, the tradesman, Morton, poked hishead above the level of the poop, and looked aft, I had the ship steadyagain. Morton's head disappeared, and after waiting a few moments tomake sure he did not intend coming up on the poop, I returned to theskylight. 

My precious shipmate was talking again. "Hi 'eard 'im sy in theKnitting Swede's 'ow 'e was shipping in this ship just to ryse 'ell. "

"He said that, did he?" commented Captain Swope. "Now what have you tosay to that, Newman?"

For the first time I heard my friend's voice. His words were cool, contemptuous. Aye, they heartened me; they told me he was far frombeing defeated. 

"The rat lies, of course, as all of you know. "

"And you say that Newman has persistently endeavored to stir up thecrew to acts of disobedience and violence?" continued the captain. 

"Yes, sir, " was the answer. "'E would sy as 'ow there was a lot o'money in the lazaret, and if we would follow 'im arft 'e would give hitto us. "

"Now I know that is a lie, " broke in Lynch. The second mate's voicewas also contemptuous, but not cool; I could tell he was excited andangry. "I've watched this crowd, Captain; I know them like I know theback of my hand. This man, Newman, is the best sailor for'ard, and thestrongest influence for peace. He, and the little Holy Joe the crimpgave us, prevented a riot the night the boy died. I know this fellowis lying, Captain!"

"That will do, Mister Lynch, " exclaimed Swope. "I did not ask youropinion in this matter. I would suggest, sir, that it is your watch ondeck, and the ship may need your attention. "

"Very good, sir, " retorted Lynch. "But I wish to tell you this, Captain--I know this man is innocent of these charges, and I will notbe a party to your action against him. "

"Have a care, sir; I am captain of this vessel, " cried Swope. 

"I recognize your authority, but that does not alter my stand in thiscase, " said Lynch. 

"That will do, sir; go on deck!" was the captain's command. 

I was at the wheel, and the ship was on her course, when the secondmate appeared. Oh, but he was in a towering rage! He stamped the decklike a full watch. He sang out to me, "Damn your eye, man, watch yourwheel; the wake is like a snake's track!" I answered meekly, "Yes, sir, " and held her nose true. He looked at me sharply, and I knew thathe guessed what I had been up to. But he said nothing more; instead, he stormed for'ard, and worked out his rage among the stiffs. 

I overheard no more of the proceedings in the cabin, for I did not dareleave the wheel while Mister Lynch was on deck. But I was easier in mymind concerning Newman's fate, for what I had overheard convinced methe big fellow stood in no immediate danger of his life. That Swopemeant to kill, I had not the least doubt--Newman, himself, said asmuch--but the time was not ripe for that act. 

So I occupied myself with thoughts about the traitor in the crew. Atthat moment Captain Swope was not the only man on board with murder inhis heart! My fingers pressed the spokes as though they had hold ofthe Cockney's throat. 

I cursed myself for a stupid fool not to have known Cockney was thespy. I should have known. He was that sort, a bully and a boot-lickerby turns. In the foc'sle he was more violent than any other in hisdenunciation of the buckos; on deck he cringed before them. He hadalways fawned upon Newman, but I suspected he hated my friend, becauseof what happened in the Knitting Swede's. But I had not suspected himof treachery to his foc'sle mates, because he was an old sailor and agood one, and there were plenty of stiffs on board more fitted, Ithought, for spy's work. But Cockney was the man. I could not mistakehis voice for another's. He was even now down below bearing falsewitness against my friend. 

I watched the deck closely, and pretty soon I saw Cockney go forward. So I knew that the farcical examination of Newman was ended, and thathe was probably locked up with the rats in the lazaret. I promisedmyself I would have a heart-to-heart talk with Cockney just as soon aseight bells released me from the wheel. 

But when eight bells did go, I had something else to think about. Indeed, yes! My own skin, no less. 

All hands were mustered aft when the port watch came on deck. This wasunusual, a break in routine, for it was not customary to call the crewaft at the close of the day watches. Moreover, the men were herded aftby the tradesmen, who were armed. Mister Lynch came up on the poop, and was obviously taking no part in the proceedings. Oh, it was theend of the easy times, and all hands knew it. 

When the men were collected by the main mast, the little parson wasplucked out of the crowd and ushered into the cabin, where the skipperand the mate awaited him. Aye, that was the reason for the muster;Holy Joe must be punished for his defiance of Fitzgibbon. Five minutesafter he entered the cabin, he was thrown out upon the deck, bruised, bleeding and unconscious, and his mates were told to pick him up andcarry him forward. 

The Old Man and the mate appeared on the poop immediately afterwards. The instant I clapped eyes upon Swope, I knew that my turn was next. Isaw it in his eyes, in his face and carriage. He looked and behavedjust as he had that day he attacked Nils. He looked at me with abright, cruel glare; he smiled, and licked his lips with his tongue. Oh, I was frightened; worse, I felt sick and weak. And I felt anger, too; aye, there was rising in me a wild and murderous rage, which, if Ilet it go, would, I knew, master both fear and caution. I keptrepeating to myself during the few minutes of grace allowed me, "I mustnot lose my temper, I must not lose my temper. " For if I did lose mytemper, and defy my masters with fist and tongue, I knew I should bebeaten until I was physically disabled, perhaps fatally disabled. Andthen who would hold the crew in check, who would labor to save Newman?

The Cockney came aft to relieve the wheel. There was a smirk on hisface, and a swagger in his walk, as he came along the lee side of thepoop. I noticed him leer confidentially at the mate, as he passed thatworthy. That Cockney thought himself a very clever fellow, no doubt, having been taken into the confidence of the ship's masters, havingbeen assigned to do their secret dirty work. It was all I could do tokeep from flying at his throat, when he came within reach of my arms. 

He murmured some hypocritical words as he stepped into my place. Hewas a good dissembler. 

"My heye, but poor 'Oly Joe caught it, " says he. "They bloomin' nearskinned 'im alive. They 'arve Newman in the lazaret. Blimme, Shreve, we got to do somethink abaht it!"

The answer he got was a grunt. My mind and eyes were on the officers. I started forward, saying to myself, "I must not lose my temper. "

CHAPTER XVIII

"Not so fast, my lad. I think I should like to look you over. "

These were the words with which Captain Swope arrested my progress. Hehad permitted me to almost reach the ladder leading to the main deck, before he hailed. The cat and the mouse; aye, that was it! He must playwith his prey. Such teasing gave him pleasure. 

I stopped, of course, and turned, and faced him. Never did Captain Swoperemind me more of a cat than that instant, when I met his glittering, pitiless eyes, and saw his smiling, red-lipped mouth, and listened to hissoft, purring voice. I was his mouse, helpless, trapped. God's truth, Ifelt like one!

He looked me over slowly, from head to foot. The mate walked aroundbehind me, and I knew the attack would come from that direction. Swopeknew that I knew it; that is why he held my eyes to the front with hisdeliberate and insulting inspection. The cat and the mouse--he wouldenjoy my nervousness. 

I think I disappointed him, for I tried hard to appear unconcerned. So, finally, he spoke again. 

"What is your name?"

"Jack S-hreve, sir, " I answered. 

"Shreve? Now, what signboard did you rob? Shreve is a good name, toogood for a foc'sle rat. Did you come by it honestly? Did you have afather by that name? I dare say not. A gutter product would not knowhis father, _eh_, my lad?"

There was no mistaking the deliberate intent of the insult, or its foulmeaning. Despite my efforts, I felt the blood in my cheeks, and myfingers clenched of their own accord. I thought how white was YankeeSwope's neck, and how near, and how easily I could reach out and chokethe vile words in his throat. I very nearly lost my temper--and with it, my life, and, I think, the other two lives, which I actually valued abovemy own. 

The thing which saved me was the glimpse of a cold, speculative gleam inmy tormentor's eyes. It was the mere shadow of an expression, but itacted like cold water upon my hot thoughts. I divined, suddenly, thatsomething more than sport was behind the captain's insults. He wanted meto blow up in a great rage, and attack him, or the mate. I suddenly knewthis was so, and the danger of my losing my temper was past. 

I lowered my eyes, afraid their expression would betray my knowledge, andsaid submissively, "Yes, sir, I guess so, sir. "

"I was told you had a long tongue, but you do not seem very glib thisminute, " Captain Swope went on. "You've taken a reef in it, _eh_, Shreve?"

I said, "Yes, sir. "

"But you forgot to take a reef in it awhile back, didn't you?"

I knew he was referring to the shout that warned Newman. I did notventure a reply. 

"So now you have put your tongue in gaskets, " he commented, after apause. "Too bad you didn't do it before. A long tongue is a very badhabit, my lad, and I do not allow my hands to have bad habits. I correctthem--so!"

He struck me then, not a heavy, stunning blow, but a short-armed, slashing uppercut, which ripped the flesh of my cheek, and sent mestumbling backwards against the mate's body. I took that blow meekly, Itook Fitzgibbon's harder blow meekly. I stood there and let the two ofthem pummel me, and knock me down and kick me, and I made no show ofresistance. I buried my head in my arms, and drew up my knees, and letthem work their will on me. 

Oh, it was a cruel dressing down they gave me! My face became raw meat, my body a mass of shooting pains. I took it meekly. I tried to guard myvitals, and my addled, star-riddled wits clung to the one idea--"I mustnot lose my temper!"

I took my medicine. I did not lift a hand against them. I grovelled onthe deck like a cur, and did not fight back. 

It was hard to behave like that. It was the hardest thing I had everdone--keeping my temper, and taking that beating without show ofresistance. I was a fighting animal; never before in my life had Itamely turned the other cheek. Long afterwards I came to realize thatthose few moments, during which I lay on the deck and felt their bootsthud into my flesh, were educative moments of vital importance in mygrowth into manhood. I was learning self-control; it was being literallykicked into me. It was a lesson I needed, no doubt--but, oh, it was abitter, bitter lesson. 

They gave over their efforts, finally. I had not much wit left in me, but I heard the captain's voice, faintly, as though he were at adistance, instead of bending over me. 

"There's no fight in this rat, " he said. "Might as well boot him off thepoop, Mister, and let him crawl into his hole. He's not dangerous, andthe ship needs him as beef. "

No sooner said than done. I had obligingly saved them the trouble ofbooting me very far, for I had been inching myself forward ever since theonslaught. When the captain spoke, I was almost at the head of theladder to the main deck--an instant after he spoke, I was lying on themain deck at the foot of the poop ladder, and all the stars in theuniverse were dancing before my eyes. 

I got dizzily to my hands and knees, and then to my feet, and staggeredforward. Captain Swope's soft voice followed me. 

"Next time reef your tongue before you open your mouth!" he called. 

I made my way into the foc'sle, and my watchmates grabbed me, and swabbedand kneaded my hurts, and swore their sympathy. My injuries were notvery severe--some nasty gashes about the head and face, and innumerablebruises upon the body. Fortunately I was in no way disabled. My boneswere intact. I was in far better case, they told me, than poor Holy Joe. He was lying in his bunk unconscious, that very moment; he had a brokenarm, and most of his teeth were gone. 

I saw at once that the men were quite wild with rage and anxiety. Fromthe sounds that came in the foc'sle door, I knew that the mate was hazinghis men. Aye, he was going after them in the good old way, quite as ifthere had been no peaceful interlude. I did not have to see the mates'men to know their temper; I could tell from the temper of my own watchhow the other watch felt. 

It was a terrific shock to most of them, that sudden return of brutality. Aye, just in that I saw the devilish cunning of Captain Swope. He knewwhat the effect would be upon the minds of the men of slackening hishell-ship discipline, and then, when the habit of passive endurance wasweakened, suddenly tightening the reins. He knew that then the bit wouldbe well nigh unendurable. Oh, Swope had calculated shrewdly; he foresawthe effect not only of an outburst of promiscuous brutality, but of thearrest of Newman, and the beating up of Holy Joe. 

I could see the effect at a glance. The stiffs were panicky. Thesevalorous stiffs were glowering, really dangerous at last. Thesquareheads were hysterical with rage. The squareheads knew why Holy Joehad suffered--because of them, because of Nils. Because of Newman, too, but they did not guess that. Then, the knowledge that Newman was trappedwas a heavy blow to sailors and stiffs alike. They had all, consciouslyor unconsciously, depended upon Newman's sane strength. With him takenfrom them they felt--every man-jack--that their backs were to the wall. 

Just as soon as the blood was washed out of my eyes, and I could see mymates' faces, just as quickly as the ringing in my ears subsided, and Icould hear their voices, I knew that the moment was past when the peacecould be kept in that foc'sle. Perhaps Newman could have composed thecrowd, but I doubt it. The captain had succeeded in driving them too farand too hard, in frightening them too much. He had won, I thoughtdespairingly; he would get his mutiny. 

For it was now the elemental instinct of self-preservation that swayedthe men and determined their actions. Oh, there was plenty of sympathyfor me, and for Holy Joe and Newman; there was rage on our account; butunderlying the sympathy and rage was a very terrible fear. It was a fearof death, a fear that each man felt for himself. Self-preservation, that's it!

My shipmates, sailors and stiffs, had reached a point where they wereafraid not to take some violent and illegal action against the men incommand of the ship. Their long misuse, the wrongs and indignities eachman had suffered, the fate of Nils, the events of the afternoon, had allculminated in the belief these men now had--good men and bad men both, remember!--that they must revolt, that they must kill the men aft beforethe men aft killed them! There were other factors at work, of course, greed for gold and lust of revenge, but this simple, primal fear fortheir own skins was the determining factor in the situation. 

"By God, I never go on deck but I'm scared o' my life!" swore one of thestiffs, named Green. And he voiced the common feeling. 

I was, of course, much concerned for the parson. I went into the portfoc'sle to look at him--and he looked bad, lying there unconscious. Thesquareheads had washed his face, but had not ventured to touch his arm. His face was in a shocking state, and I feared his body might be broken, as was Nils' body. He was much worse off than I; for he had not my ironmuscles, to withstand hard knocks, nor my skill in rough-and-tumblefighting, which had enabled me to protect the vital parts of my body. 

"We'll have to get him aft, where the lady can attend to him--or else gether for'ard, " I declared. 

"No chance, " answered Boston. 

"If we take him aft dey ban kill him, " asserted one of the squareheads. 

"She can't come for'ard; she's locked in her room, " said another. 

"How do you know that?" I cried. 

"Cockney says so. He was there when the skipper locked her in, " saidBoston. 

For an instant I forgot Holy Joe, and his evil plight. 

"What yarn did that Cockney bring for'ard with him?" I demanded. 

"Why, he was there when they got the Big 'Un, " answered Blackie. "He washelpin' the steward break out a cask o' beef from the lazaret, when theybrought Big 'Un into the cabin, cuffed up, and with the drop on him. Hesays the hen squawked, and the Old Man shut her in her room. Then theykicked him out on deck, so he wouldn't see too much o' what was goin' on. He says they put the Big 'Un down in the lazaret, and they're goin' tocroak him sure, and if we got any guts we'll go aft tonight and turn himloose. That's what Cockney says. "

Well, I let myself go, verbally. I said things about that Cockney, and Iwas only sorry Cockney was not there to hear them. I knew most of thehard words of three languages, and I used them all. Oh, it was a reliefto give even verbal release to the ocean of hate and rage in my soul! Itold the crowd what I thought of Cockney. Then I told them why. I toldthem what had really happened in the cabin, what Cockney really was. 

They believed me. They knew me; they knew I would not lie in such acase, they could not help but sense the sincerity of my loathing. Theyknew Cockney, also. They knew he was the sort to spy and perjure--a goodmany of them were that sort themselves!--and as soon as I paused forbreath, this man and that began to recall certain suspicious acts ofCockney he had noticed. Aye, they believed me, and the curses heaped onCockney's head were awful to the ear. 

They had good reason to curse. My disclosure gave them a fresh fear. Consternation was in their faces and voices, especially in the faces andvoices of the stiffs. I knew very well what frightened them. Cockneyhad been most violent and outspoken among those advocating mutiny, farmore outspoken than the cautious Blackie or Boston, and the disaffectedhad naturally confided in him. I knew that every man in the crew who hadexpressed a willingness to revolt was known by name to Cockney (andwithout doubt to Yankee Swope) and these men now could not escape thefeeling that they were marked men. If anything had been needed to settlethe conviction of the foc'sle that mutiny was necessary, this unmaskingof Cockney supplied the need. 

I felt this, rather than thought it out. It was in the air, so to speak. At the moment, I was too much concerned for the little parson to reasoncoolly. Oh, I reasoned about it a little while later, not coollyperhaps, but certainly quickly, and leaped helter-skelter to a momentousdecision. But just then I thought about Holy Joe. 

I wanted to get his arm set, and his body examined. I, myself, was notcompetent to do either. The squarehead had spoken truth--it would bemadness to carry the man aft for treatment; and I judged Cockney hadspoken truly, too, when he said the lady was locked up. That agreed withwhat I, myself, had heard, I appealed to the crowd. 

"We've got to get Holy Joe fixed up. Any of you know anything about bonesetting? Who'll lend a hand?"

To my surprise, Boston volunteered. "I worked in a hospital once, " hesaid. 

He set to work immediately in an efficient, businesslike manner. I wasastonished. His fingers were as deft--though not as gentle--as Newman's. I thought, as I tore a blanket into strips, under his direction, howcharacteristic it was of the fellow to let a hurt shipmate lie unattendedwhen he possessed the skill to help him. Aye, that was the sort of scutBoston was!

"A clean break; no trick to set it, " he announced, after examining thearm. Nor was it. We cut up a bunkboard for splints, used the blanketfor bandages, and triced the injured member in short order. Boston wasdeft, but he didn't try to spare his patient any pain; when he snappedthe ends of the bone together, Holy Joe came out of his swoon with a cryof agony. 

He half raised himself, and looked at us. "Let there be no trouble, boys--for God's sake, no fighting!" he said. Then he fainted away again. 

We undressed him, and Boston pronounced his ribs sound. Then we carriedhim into the starboard foc'sle, and placed him in my bunk, which had acomfortable mattress. 

"Now you see what he got?" said Boston, wiping his hands on his greasypants. "And you see what you got. And you know what happened to Big'Un. Well, how about it, Shreve? Do you stand with us?"

"With the crowd, sink or swim--that's what we want to know?" addedBlackie. 

I sized them up. Sailors and stiffs, they stood shoulder to shoulder. There was no longer a division in that crowd. And they looked to me tolead them. 

I was thinking, desperately trying to discover a course that would helpNewman. So I tried to put the crowd off. 

"You heard what Holy Joe said?" I asked. 

"He's balmy--and besides what d'ye think a Holy Joe would say?" retortedBoston. "Now, here's the lay, Shreve--we got to put a stop to this sorto' work. " He pointed to the bunk that held Holy Joe. "That means we gotto take charge of this hooker, " he went on. "All hands are agreed to it. But where do you stand--with us, or against us?"

I made my plea for peace, knowing beforehand it was useless. "How aboutNewman?" I said. "You know as well as I that the skipper is out to killhim. And I have Newman's word for it that the Old Man wants to kill thelady, too. He's just waiting for an excuse. That's why he's dressing usdown this way, and hazing us raw--so we'll mutiny, and give him theexcuse he needs. Can't you see that?"

"He'll croak 'em anyway--and maybe we can save them, " retorted Boston. 

"No, Lynch won't allow it, " said I. "He's for Newman and the lady. TheOld Man will not dare do it unless we give him the chance by attackingthe cabin, because Lynch would testify against him at the Inquiry. TheOld Man has logged Newman as a mutineer, and our going aft would make himout one. As it is, Lynch is standing up for him--and for us. "

But this was too much for the crowd to swallow. Too many of them hadfelt the weight of the second mate's fist. 

"Lynch for us? By God, when I have my knife in his gullet--then he'll befor us!" swore Blackie, and the chorus of approval which followed thisstatement showed what the rest thought. 

"The last thing Newman said to me, when I relieved him, " I went on, "wasa command to prevent this trouble. He said his life, and hers, dependedon our keeping quiet. "

"And how about us, how about our lives?" demanded Boston. "That damnedmurderer aft is out to croak us, too, ain't he--all of us he can spare?Look what he's done already! No, by God, we're going to put a stop toit--and we want to know if you are with us?"

I tried sarcasm. "I suppose you'll end it by walking aft and lettingthem empty their shotguns into you! I suppose you'll chase themoverboard, guns and all, with your cute little knives, and yourbelaying-pins! Good Lor', men, have you gone crazy? If I hadn'toverheard Cockney, I suppose he'd have led you aft, and got half of youfilled with shot. As it is, they know you are talking mutiny, and theywill be expecting you. You can't surprise them--and what can you doagainst their guns?"

Blackie cursed Cockney in a way to curdle the blood. Then he made plainthe fear that was driving the men. 

"They know we are talking mutiny--yes, and what's more, they know _who's_talking mutiny. "

"We got to do it now, guns or no guns--ain't that right, mates?" said theman, Green. 

"And the money, too!" added Blackie, artfully. "Enough of it aft thereto set us all up for gents. "

Boston plucked me by the sleeve. "Me and Jack are goin' to have a fewwords private, " says he to the rest. "He's with us--no fear--a fellerlike Jack Shreve stands by his mates. Come on, Jack. "

I went with him willingly. I was anxious to hear what he had to say"private. " I was even more anxious to get away from the crowd for a fewmoments, and think out some scheme whereby I could avert the impendingcatastrophe. 

Boston led me up on the foc'sle head, and we sat down upon an anchorstock. 

"We ain't such fools as you think, Blackie and me, " he commencedabruptly. "We ain't goin' to face guns with knives--not us. But guns toguns--well, that's different now, ain't it?"

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "Have you got a gun?"

In answer, he lifted my hand and placed it over his dungaree jacket, Ifelt something hard, of irregular shape, beneath the thin cloth, theoutline of a revolver. 

"It ain't the only one, " he assured me. "Two brace we came on boardwith--and we weren't drunk, you bet. We hid them safe before themfellers aft went through the dunnage. And Cockney didn't find out aboutthem, either. They don't know aft that we're heeled. The rest o' thegang ain't acquainted with the fact yet, either. We'll let them knowwhen the time comes. "

He paused, and looked at me inquiringly. "Well?" I asked. 

"Well!" he echoed. "Well, just this--a gang that has guts enough to faceshotguns with sheath-knives is a pretty tough gang, ain't it? And it'llbe a lot tougher when it finds out it has four guns of its own, andplenty o' shells. And it kind of evens up the chances, doesn't it?"

I was thinking fast. All chance to keep the peace was gone, I realized. Unless----

"We ain't goin' to let them fellers slaughter us; don't you worry noneabout that, " went on Boston. "This ain't the first gun-play me andBlackie has took part in, you bet! He's a dead shot, and I'm a good one. We got it all planned out, Blackie and me. We never intended going aftlike the Cockney wanted us to. We're goin' to lay low, behind cover, andpick 'em off--the mates, and old Swope, too, if he shows his blastedhead. Then, where will them sailmakers and carpenters be, with theirboss gone? They'll be rattled, they'll be up Battle Creek, that's wherethey'll be. We can rush 'em then. And if a few of our fellers swallerlead--why, there'll be the fewer to share the swag. "

"Newman--" I began. 

"We'll do the best we can for Big 'Un, " says Boston. "We need him. We'll try and get the Old Man first pop--and if we have decent luckplunkin' the mates, it'll be over so quick nobody can hurt Big 'Un. "

I thought, and was silent. 

"What's holdin' you back?" demanded Boston. "I know you ain't afraid. Look here, Shreve, you know you can't hold the crowd back. You andBlackie and me could all be against it, and still they'd go aft. They'regoin' to get Swope before Swope gets more o' them. And if it's Big 'Unyou're worryin' about--why, we got to do this to save him. Lookhere--let me give you a tip, if the Big 'Un hasn't: When Big 'Un come onboard this ship he found out somethin' from the skipper's Moll that hewanted to find out, and now, if he gets ashore alive with what he foundout, there'll be a sheriff's necktie party for Yankee Swope. That's whatall this bloody business has been about. You can lay your last cent thatSwope will get Big 'Un, if we don't get Swope. "

"Boston, give me that gun, " I said. 

He took a look at my face, and smiled, satisfied. He drew the weaponfrom under his clothes, a long-barreled, heavy caliber service Colt's, and passed it to me. I thrust it out of sight, beneath my own waist-band. 

"Now, I'm boss, " I said. "I'll give the word. "

His smile widened. This was what he wanted, as I well knew. Boston andBlackie could plan and instigate. But they could not lead that crowd. The sailors despised them, the stiffs hated and feared them second onlyto the afterguard. They needed me as leader. They flattered themselves, I dare say, that they could control me--or extinguish me when the timecame. 

For my part, I had made my decision. It was a desperate, a terribledecision. It was necessary that I pretend to fall in with Boston's plansif I were to execute my decision. 

"When it gets dark, I am going aft--alone, " I told him. "You and Blackiekeep the crowd quiet, and forward of the house, until I return. "

"What you goin' to do?" he asked. 

"Make sure that Newman will be safe when we make the attack, " Iexplained. "We must make sure of that--he's our navigator. "

"That's so, " he agreed. "But how'll you do it?"

"I'll kill Captain Swope, " I said. 

CHAPTER XIX

I was in earnest. I meant to do the murder. Aye, murder is what thelaw of man would call it, and murder is the right term. I planned thedeed, not in cold blood perhaps, but certainly with coolness andforesight. I intended to creep aft in the night and shoot down thecaptain. 

But you must understand my motive before you judge. More than that, you must bear in mind my environment, my character and its background, and the dilemma which faced me. I intended to become an assassin--butnot for hate, or greed, or, indeed, any personal satisfaction or gain. 

I was, remember, a nineteen-year-old barbarian, The impressionable, formative years of my youth had been spent in deepwater foc'sles, amongmen who obeyed but one law--fear. The watch, the gang, was my socialunit; loyalty to a shipmate was the one virtue I thoroughly understoodand respected. And it was loyalty to Newman that determined me to kill. 

Newman was my friend--aye, more than that, he was in my youthful eyes ademi-god, a man to revere and worship above all others. He wasprisoner, helpless. The crew were bent on mutiny; I could not stopthem. The mutiny was planned and expected by the captain; and itsoutbreak would be the needed excuse for the slaying of Newman, and, Newman said, of the lady. 

How could I save Newman? That was my problem. How indeed? The evilchoice was inevitably mine; and I considered it the lesser evil. If Ikilled Swope, Newman would be safe. Perhaps the mutiny would collapse, would never come off. This last was something Boston and Blackie, blinded by their greed, quite overlooked. But I knew it was hate andfear of Swope, rather than greed, that impelled the squareheads torevolt. If Swope were killed, they might not go on with it, and whatthe sailors decided, the stiffs must agree to. And in any case, Newmanwould be safe. 

I did not approach my task in a spirit of revulsion and horror. Indeed, no. Why should I have felt thus? In my experience I had notyet gathered the idea that human life was sacred. Certainly, myexperience in the _Golden Bough_ had not taught me that. I confess, the job I planned was distasteful, extremely so--but, I thought, necessary. 

I planned Yankee Swope's murder in spite of self-sacrifice. Aye, trulyI did! I dare say few acts in my life have had a finer, cleaner, lessselfish motive. 

I did not expect to escape after firing the shot. I expected the matesor the tradesmen would kill me. True, I thought of hiding on the darkdeck, and picking off the captain when he appeared on the poop. Thatis what Boston and Blackie expected me to do. But I dismissed thisthought without serious consideration. It was uncertain, and I meantto make sure of the brute. Besides, it was, I felt, cowardly, and Iwould not be a coward. I intended to get into the cabin and shootSwope in his own arm-chair, so to speak. Afterwards--well, they coulddo what they pleased with me. My friend would be safe. 

So I lived through a few very exalted hours before the first nightwatch came. Unhappy? Not I. In moments I touched the skies inexaltation. 

For I was the sacrifice. I was the center of the drama. I was Fate. I was a romantic-minded young ass, and the situation flattered mygenerous conceit. I was tossing away my life, you see, with a grandgesture, to help my friend. I was dying for my friend's sake. Myimagination gave my death nobility. I imagined Newman and the ladyremembering me sadly all their lives long, thinking of me always astheir saviour. I imagined my name on sailors' lips, in ships not yetlaunched; they would talk of me, of Jack Shreve, the lad who killedYankee Swope so his shipmate might live. 

My resolution did not weaken; rather, it grew firmer with the passageof the hours. Of course, I did not take the crew into my confidence(there might be, I thought, another Cockney among them), but I laiddown the law to Boston and Blackie, and they promised faithfully toobey my injunctions. They promised they would keep the men in checkuntil I had completed my task. They promised also to mislead the spy, and see that no man laid violent hands upon him. 

This last I considered important. The crowd was eager for vengeanceupon Cockney. He had committed the unpardonable sin, he had betrayedhis mates. Blackie wanted to slit his throat, and drop him over theside; and the men voted an emphatic aye to the suggestion. Sentencewould have been executed as soon as Cockney came forward from the wheelhad I not interposed my veto and given my reasons. 

It was not solicitude for the spy's life that influenced me. I, too, considered he had forfeited his right to life by his act. But Ipointed out that offering immediate violence to Cockney might alarm theafterguard, and change their plan of action; moreover, we might use thespy to carry false tales of our intentions to the enemy. 

So when Cockney breezed into the foc'sle, at four bells, his receptionin no way aroused his suspicions. Everything seemed going his way. Hesympathized volubly with me, and would have awakened Holy Joe (who haddropped into a healing sleep, after regaining consciousness) tosympathize with him, had I permitted. Aye, he was a good dissembler, was Cockney--but we matched him. His mouth dripped curses on Swope andhis minions, he exhorted us to "'arve guts" and rush the poop at mustertime. He was willing to risk his own skin by leading the rush. "Wotdid we think abaht it?"

Boston told him we thought early evening a bad time for the adventure. We were going to wait until morning, until the beginning of the"gravvy-eye" watch, just before dawn. That was the hour in which tostrike. Men slept soundest just before dawn; those who were awake wereless alert. The mutiny was timed for four A. M. 

"Hi cawn't 'ardly wyte that long, Hi'm that eager to get my knife'twixt that myte's bleedin' ribs, " said Cockney. 

The Nigger had come in during the discussion. He seated himself, andrecommenced his favorite task of stropping his knife upon a whetstone. At the Cockney's last words he lifted his head. 

"Don' yoh touch de mate, " he said to Cockney. "Dat man's mah meat, yes, suh, mah meat!"

Cockney disputed this. He raved, and swore, and even threatenedNigger. Aye, he made a fine bluster. "'E wasn't goin' to give hup 'ischawnce at the bleedin' myte, not 'im! 'E 'ad a score to settle withthat blighter, so 'e 'ad. The Nigger could 'arve the bloomin' secondmyte, that's wot. "

Nigger was so incensed he got up and left the foc'sle, leaving the lastword to the spy. Nigger had brooded so much over his wrongs he was abit cracked; he took no part in the councils of the crew, and did notknow, I am sure, that Cockney had been unmasked as a traitor. Else hewould never have acted as he later did. 

It came down night. It was a good night for my purpose, dark andshadowless, with a mere sliver of a new moon in the sky. I had littledifficulty in gaining entrance to the cabin. 

After the eight o'clock muster, when my watch was sent below, I slippedaround the corner of the roundhouse, where the tradesmen lived (it wason the maindeck, between the mainmast and the after-hatch) and crouchedthere in the darkness while my mates trooped forward. This roundhouse(which was really square, of course, like most roundhouses on boardship) was very plentifully supplied with ports. Designedly so, nodoubt, for it was the cabin's outpost. There were two portholes in itsforward wall, commanding the foredeck, and three portholes in either ofthe side walls. The door to the house was in the after wall. It wasbuilt like a fortress, and used as one. 

As I lay there on the deck, pressed against the forward wall, I saw themuzzles of shotguns sticking out of the portholes above my head. Therewas no light showing in the roundhouse, but the tradesmen were in therejust the same. Aye, and prepared and alert. They were covering thedeck with guns; and I knew they would continue to cover the deckthroughout that night. 

Oh, Swope was canny, as canny as he was cruel. He would provokemutiny, but he would run no chance of losing his ship or his life. Hewas prepared. What could a few revolvers do against these entrenchedmen? My shipmates' revolt could have but one end--mass murder anddefeat!

So I thought, as I lay there on the deck, watching my chance to slipaft. Swope's plan, Swope's mutiny, I thought. Swope was the soul ofthe whole vile business. His plan--and I was going to spoil it! I wasgoing to put a bullet in his black heart. 

I might have picked him off at that very moment, if I aimed carefully. For, as my mates' footsteps died away forward, I edged around thecorner of the roundhouse, and saw the enemy standing on the poop. Thethree of them were there, both mates, with the skipper standing betweenthem. I picked him out of the group easily, even in the darkness, forhe was of much slighter build than either of his officers, and besidesI heard his voice. 

"The rats have discovered some courage--but they'll lose it soonenough, when they face our reception, " I heard him say. "But--nonodding to-night, Misters! Keep your eyes and ears open!"

Fitzgibbon mumbled something. The captain laughed his soft, tinklinglaugh. 

"I'm going down to take a look at him now, " he said, and the three ofthem moved aft, out of sight. 

Aye, I might have picked him off then. But I didn't even entertain thethought. It was no part of my plan to slay from concealment. I wasthe hero, the avenger, the saviour! I meant to face him in his ownlighted cabin. 

The door of the roundhouse was closed, so I did not fear the inmateswould observe me entering the cabin. The break of the poop seemedclear of life. I scuttled on my hands and knees until I was past thebooby-hatch; then I arose to my feet and flitted noiselessly to thecabin door. I opened it just wide enough to admit my body, and steppedinto the lighted cabin alleyway. 

My bare feet made no noise as I crept toward the saloon. This was thefirst time I had set foot within the sacred precincts of thequarterdeck. From the gossip of those who had been aft to sick-call, or to break out stores, I had some notion of the lay of the land, butnot a very clear one. 

There were three doors opening upon the alley-way; the one on the portside was the inner door of the sail-locker, the two on the starboardside let into the mates' rooms. That much I knew. I also knew that Ineed not fear these doors, since both mates were on deck. 

But at the end of the alleyway was the saloon, the great common room ofthe cabin. I paused uncertainly upon the threshold; I didn't knowwhich way to turn for concealment, and I had to get out of the alleywayquickly, for any moment a tradesman might come in behind me. 

There were several doors on each side of the saloon. To starboard, Iknew, lay the captain's quarters, and, from the sounds, the pantry. Toport, I knew, lay the lady's quarters, and the steward's room. Butwhich door was which, I did not know. I decided I had best duck intothe captain's room. 

But before I could act upon this decision the forward door on the portside slowly opened, and Wong, the steward, stepped out. I shrank backinto the alleyway as the door opened, and the Chinaman did not glancein my direction. His whole attention was riveted upon the companionstairs; Swope's voice sounded up there in the entrance to the hatch. 

Wong softly closed the door behind him, and ran on tiptoe across thesaloon, disappearing into the pantry. I did not hesitate an instant. Wong had not locked the door behind him, and his room would be handyenough for my purpose. From it I could command the interior of the bigroom, and step forth when the moment arrived. I crossed the corner ofthe saloon in a bound, and turned the doorknob as silently as had Wong. 

I opened the door and stepped in backwards. My eyes assured me I wasunseen. I closed the door, all save a crack, through which I meant towatch for the coming of my victim. 

I heard a gasp behind me. I shut the door tight and wheeled about--andfound myself staring into the wide-open eyes of the lady. 

CHAPTER XX

She was on her knees, at the other end of the room. Aye, and it was aroom, a spacious cabin, not a cubbyhole berth I had blundered into; thelady's own quarters, no less. There was a lamp burning in gimbals, andits light disclosed to my first startled glance that it was a woman'sroom. Aye, to my foc'sle-bred senses the quarters were palatial. 

The lady crouched on her knees, with her skirts spread wide, and herhands hidden behind her back. When first her eyes met mine, I saw shewas fear-stricken. But immediately she recognized me the fear gave wayto relief. 

"Oh, I thought it was--" she began. Then she saw the revolver in myhand, and the fear leaped into her eyes again. Aye, fear, andcomprehension. "That--oh, Boy, what do you mean to do?"

I had been gaping, open-mouthed, too surprised to utter a sound. Buther swift recognition, and her words, brought me to myself. Also, justthen we heard Captain Swope's voice. He was in the saloon, calling outan order to the steward. We listened with strained attention, both ofus. He told the steward to open the lazaret hatch, and be sharp aboutit. 

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, and nodded significantly to thelady. "Don't be afraid, ma'am, " I whispered. "He isn't going to hurtNewman. He isn't going to hurt anyone--not any more. " Oh, the dreadthat showed in her face when we heard Swope's voice!

She brought her hands into view, when I spoke. Something she had beenholding behind her back dropped on the deck with a metallic clink, andshe pressed her hands against her bosom. 

"You--you mean--" she began. 

I nodded again. I really thought I was reassuring her, lifting a loadof care from her heart. 

"I'm going out there and get him. Don't be afraid, ma'am. I won'tmake a miss of it. He isn't going to hurt Newman, or you, or anyone, after I've finished. And ma'am, please--will you try and slip for'ardand tell the men not to mutiny. They'll listen to you, especially whenyou tell them the Old Man is dead. They don't want to mutiny, ma'am--anyway, the squareheads don't--but they're afraid not to. Ifyou tell them I've killed him, and appeal to them, the sailors willkeep quiet, I know; and they'll make the stiffs keep quiet, too. Itwill save some lives, ma'am--for the crowd is coming aft to-night, likethe Old Man plans, and the tradesmen are in the roundhouse, with guns, waiting for them. "

There was anguish in her whispered reply. "Coming aft? No, no, theymust not! It would mean--his death----"

She stopped. We listened. We heard Swope again, out in the saloon. He was damning Wong for a sluggard, and demanding a lighted lanternthat instant or sooner, or "I'll take a strip off your yellow hide, youheathen!"

"No, not Newman's death, " I answered the lady. I turned, and laid myhand upon the door knob. My weapon was ready. This was the moment Imust act. 

Before I could open the door, I felt the lady's cool fingers upon mywrist. 

"No, no, not that! Not murder!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Boy, you wouldnot take life--you would not do that!"

I turned and faced her, astonished. Her eyes were but a few inchesdistant from mine, now, and to my amazement I read in their expressionnot approbation but startled horror. And I could not mistake themeaning in her voice. She disapproved of my killing Captain Swope. 

I was as shocked as she. Here I had been happy in the consciousness Iwas playing the hero, I had believed myself cutting a very prettyfigure indeed in the lady's eyes, and, instead--well, my bubble waspricked. As I looked into the lady's eyes, I could feel my granddimensions dwindling in my own eyes. More than that, I began to feelashamed. Just why that look in her eyes should shame me, I didn'tknow. My education had not progressed to the self-analytic stage. Butshame me it did. I felt mean, vile. I felt, without consciouslyreasoning about it, that murdering Yankee Swope would, perhaps, be notsuch a noble deed after all. I confronted something that was superiorto the barbarous moral code of my brutal world. I discovered it in thelady's wide open eyes. It vanquished me. It took from me the feelingI was doing right. 

But I could not surrender thus tamely. Indeed, the need for the deedremained as urgent. 

"But, ma'am, you know I must!" I said. "You know--he will kill him!"

Her little fingers were plucking at mine, which were stubbornly grippedabout the revolver's stock. "I know you must not!" she answered. "Youmust not take human life!" It was a commandment she uttered, and Itook it as such. Especially, when she added, "Do you think he wouldkill in that fashion?"

That finished me. Aye, she knew how to beat down my defense; herwoman's insight had supplied her with an invincible argument. Iaverted my eyes from hers, and hung my head; I allowed her to take therevolver from my grasp. 

For I knew the answer to her question. "He" would not creep into thecabin and shoot Captain Swope. She meant Newman, and I knew thatNewman would scorn to do the thing I planned to do. Kill Swope in fairfight, with chances equal? Newman might do that. But shoot him downlike a mad dog, when he was unprepared and perhaps unarmed--no, Newmanwould not do that. Nor would any decent man. 

I passed another milestone in my evolution into manhood, as I stoodthere, hangdog and ashamed. I added another "don't" to my list. 

She brushed back the hair from my forehead. Oh, there was magic in herfingers. That gentle stroke restored my pride, my self-respect. Itwas a gesture of understanding. I felt now as I felt the first time Isaw the lady, like a little boy before a wise and merciful mother. Iknew the lady understood. She knew my heart was clean, my motive good. 

She held up the weapon she had taken from me. "This--is not the way, "she said. "It is never the way. You must not!"

"I must not, " I echoed. "Yes, ma'am; I won't do it now. But--what--how----"

I floundered and stopped. "What--how, " aye, that was it. If I did notkill Captain Swope what would happen to Newman? That was the questionthat hammered against my mind, that sent a wave of sick fear throughme. If I did not kill Swope--then Newman was lost. 

"But--I must do something, " I added, miserably. "You know what willhappen when the hands come aft. It will be the skipper's excuse;Newman told me it would. I can't see him butchered without doingsomething to prevent it. Why, ma'am, Newman is my friend!"

"He is my life, " said she. Her voice was so low I barely caught thewords. "But I would not buy his life with murder; it would lower himto their level. " She swayed, and clutched at my shoulder; I thoughtshe was falling, and gripped her arm to steady her. But she was notthe swooning kind. Not the lady. She recovered herself instantly. She clutched my lapels, and laid down the law to me. 

"There must be no fighting. The men must not come aft, " said she. "Ifthey do, it will ruin everything. Boy, you must stop them. Deakinwill help you. You must hold them back. "

I shook my head. "It's too late, " I informed her. "They will notlisten to the parson, or me; they are too afraid. "

"But they must be stopped!" she cried. 

"Only one man can stop them--and that's Newman, himself, " I replied. 

"What time have they set?" she asked, quickly. 

"Next eight bells, " I told her. "We gave the skipper's spy tounderstand it was timed for four o'clock in the morning; but the ladsreally mean to make the rush at midnight. "

"Then we have time, " was her verdict. "And you must help me. "

She pointed to the deck. My eyes followed her gesture, and for thefirst time I examined the floor of the room. The first thing my gazeencountered was a large carpenter's auger, or brace and bit; the nextthing I saw, was a pattern of holes in the floor. There were two rowsof them, parallel, each about eighteen inches long, and the samedistance apart. The holes overlapped each other, and made a continuouscut in the deck. 

The lady thrust out her hands, palms up, for my inspection. Upon eachpalm was a great red blister. 

"I was nearly despairing, " said she, "I could longer press down hardenough. But now----"

She did not need to explain. The sight of the holes and the auger toldme enough to set me to work instantly. Aye, I grabbed up the tool andturned to with a song in my heart and the strength of Hercules in myarms. There was after all a chance to save my friend, and it dependedin part upon my haste and strength. A chance to save him withoutmurder. 

The lady locked the door, and came and sat down beside me. While Iworked she explained the plot behind the task. She talked eagerly, without reserve; it helped her, eased her mind, I think, to unload intomy ears. 

I was boring my way to Newman. My task was to connect the two rows ofholes already bored through the deck with two other rows; when I wasfinished there would be an opening in the deck some eighteen inchessquare. A manhole to the lazaret below, where lay Newman. 

But this was not all. She told me there was a scheme to free her andhim completely from the captain and the ship. Well, I had guessedsomething like that was in the wind; but I did not tell her so. Shesaid that Mister Lynch was in the plot; aye, this hard bucko, this"square-shooter, " as I had heard him called, was the instigator andprime mover in the affair. One of the tradesmen was also friendly, andhad brought the lady the tool I was using to cut through the deck. Wong, the steward, who was the lady's devoted slave, played a veryimportant part. 

The plot was this. We were to get Newman out of the lazaret (shealways called him "Roy" when she spoke of him or to him; and when shementioned Swope, it was always with a little hesitating catch in hervoice) through this hole we were making. She had the key that wouldrelease him from irons. Wong had stolen it from the skipper's desk. 

When he was out of the lazaret, the situation would be managed byMister Lynch. The ship's longboat, in the port skids, was ready forthe water. They planned, said the lady, to launch this boat at night, in the second mate's watch, and she and Newman were to sail awaytogether. 

For it was no haphazard plan born of desperation after Newman's arrest. Newman knew all about it. It had kept him occupied this past week; itwas responsible in large measure for the mysterious happenings of thepast week, for Newman's absences, and for the lady's masquerade inNils' clothes. She had access to Nils' chest through Wong, who hadcharge of it, and she first dressed up in Nils' clothes so that shemight, as she thought, move about at night on deck unobserved. Whenshe was observed, and taken for a ghost, both Newman and Lynch told herto continue the masquerade; it helped their business with the longboat, because it kept spying eyes away from that part of the ship. They hadbeen provisioning and preparing this boat for a week, working thus inthe night, and by stealth. Another day or two, and they would havebeen away. 

But the captain's blow this afternoon had jeopardized the entirescheme. Indeed, it was on the verge of utter ruin. For Newman was inthe black hole in irons, and the crew were preparing to mutiny. 

It was this last, the threatened uprising, that terrified the lady. Itwould finally ruin their chances of escape, she told me. At allhazards, we must get Newman out of the lazaret before the sailors'attack occurred. We must get him forward, she said, so that he mightsquelch the mutiny before it began. Oh, Newman could tame Boston andBlackie, he could tame the stiffs and compose the squareheads; she hadno doubt he could do all that, and instantly. I was not so sure. Ididn't think that anything or anybody could stop the crew--unless itwas killing Swope, which she forbade. But I didn't say so. 

And in any event, the immediate thing to do was to release Newman. Itwould at least give him a fighting chance. She urged haste, and Iworked like a fiend. It was hard work. The deck planking was threeinches thick, and the number of holes I must bore seemed endless. Iwas surprised at the amount of work already accomplished; it did notseem possible that this slender woman had done the two long rows ofholes. Nor had she, I learned. Wong had bored most of them, duringthe odd moments he could slip away unobserved from his work. Thetradesman who furnished the tool had even driven a few. The lady haddone some of the work, as the condition of her hands proved. But mycoming was really providential. She could never have finished the jobon time, and now she knew of the crew's intention, she recognized theneed of haste. 

I longed mightily for a saw. Yet I knew I could not have used a sawhad I possessed one. A saw makes a carrying noise. The tool I had wasnearly noiseless. I sweated and wondered, and now and then asked aquestion. 

I wondered what Lynch would do when the lads came aft. Aye, and Idiscovered that this was one reason the lady was so terrified at theprospect of mutiny. For Lynch, she was certain, would make commoncause with the rest of the afterguard against any uprising forward. Hewas helping her and Newman. But he had no interest in helping thehands. The hands were just hands to him, so much beef to work andbeat. He would never side with the foc'sle against the cabin. 

"I have sailed three voyages with Lynch, " said she. "He is a hard man, a cruel man; I have seen him do terrible things to sailors. But he isalso, according to his lights, a just man. His brutality is always forwhat he considers the ship's welfare, never for any personal reason. You know how he has treated you, and Roy, and other men who know and dotheir work. "

"Fair enough, " I admitted. 

"When my--my husband tried to kill Roy, that night you and he werealoft together, he violated James Lynch's very strict code. Heconsidered that attempt a serious blot upon his honor. He toldhim--Angus--as much. He told him he would not have that sort of thingin his watch. It wasn't regard for Roy that made him say that; it wasjust that he thinks it is not right to kill or even hurt a man forpersonal reasons, but only when the welfare of the ship is at stake. And also, I think--well, he--likes me. He is willing to help me. Thatis why, a week ago, he came to me and offered his help. He haddiscovered what my--my husband really intended doing; I think heoverheard a conversation between my--between Angus and the mate. Hesaid we were both in danger, I as well as Roy, and that we must leavethe ship. 

"Roy suggested the longboat, and he agreed. Roy can navigate, ofcourse, and there are islands not distant from our present position. So we have been preparing the boat, and Mr. Lynch planned to launch itsome midwatch when the mate and--and Captain Swope were in theirberths. He hoped to get us away so quietly they would know nothingabout it until hours later. "

"But surely Lynch didn't intend staying by the ship? Why, when the OldMan found out he'd skin him alive!" I exclaimed. 

"He said not, and I think not, " she said. "He has sailed under my--myhusband for years. He is not like Mr. Fitzgibbon, and the others. Hedoes not fear my husband. I think Angus fears him. He knows thingsthat have happened in this ship that my--my husband dare not have toldon shore. He refused when we urged him to come with us; he declared hewould be in no danger, that he could guard himself. I think he can. "

The lady clenched her hands, and her voice broke a little, as shedisclosed the anxiety that was wrenching her soul. 

"But now--I don't know what he will do. If we can free Roy in time; ifwe can stop trouble forward! Then I know Mr. Lynch will keep hispromise; he will lock up Angus and the mate, get them out of the waysomehow, until Roy and I have left the ship. But if the men risebefore we have gone--then he will think his duty is to the ship. Hewill not think of us, and my--my husband will do what he wishes. Doyou understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. But we have until midnight, or after, and it's just alittle past two bells, now. Ten minutes more, ma'am, and I'll havethis hole open. "

But it took a little longer than ten minutes. Three bells struck whileI was still whittling and digging at the caulking in the seams with mysheath knife. But the echo of the big ship's bell forward had hardlydied away when I carefully, ever so carefully, lifted up and laid backthe cut-away section of the deck. I had left the caulking at one endnearly intact, so the solid piece laid back like a trap-door. 

The lady and I knelt by the side of the hole and peered down into thelittered darkness. We could make out, dimly, heaps of barrels andboxes. A damp, chill air rushed up into our faces, carrying with itthe sound of a scurrying rat, and another sound which made the ladygasp and tremble, and caused me to grind my teeth with rage. It was along, drawn-out sigh, the moan of a man in agony of flesh or spirit. It was Newman's voice. Mingling with it, and following it, came thelow, demoniac chuckle of Captain Swope. 

Lying flat and craning my neck into the hole, I saw, far over on theother side of the ship, the flicker of a lantern upon boxes. Iimmediately drew back, got to my feet, and extinguished the lamp in thegimbals. Then I snatched a blanket from the steward's bunk, and spreadit across the hole. That done, there was no danger of light or draughtbetraying us to the man below. 

I asked orders of the lady, and discussed ways and means with her. Itwas decided at once that I should go below and effect Newman'srelease--and she gave me the small key that the Chinaman had filched. I was the stronger and more active, and could more easily make my wayabout in the dark, cluttered lazaret; besides, her work lay above. Swope was evidently pleasuring himself by viewing and taunting hishelpless prisoner; he must be drawn away from this amusement. 

She could not go on deck herself, she said; Fitzgibbon was up there, and would see her--and she was supposed to be locked in her room. Butshe would send Wong on deck with a message to Mister Lynch; she wouldhave Lynch sing out for the captain's presence on the poop. When thecaptain responded to the hail, I was to accomplish my task. I was tobring Newman to this room. What happened then depended uponchance--and Lynch. Newman and I must get forward, some way, and quietthe men; Lynch would take care of Swope. She had a fine faith in thesecond mate, had the lady. 

I had never been in the lazaret, the task of breaking out stores havingusually fallen to the stiffs. But from foc'sle gossip I knew it was abig storeroom, comprising the whole 'tweendeck beneath the cabin space. The _Golden Bough_, like most clippers of her day, sometimes carriedemigrant passengers, and had need of a spacious lazaret. 

The lady sketched the lay of the land for me. The hatch to the lazaretwas in the saloon floor, well aft, on the starboard side. Wong wasmore familiar than any man with the lazaret's interior, and he haddecided the deck should be cut through from this room, rather than atany other point. This, said the lady, was because farther aft, on thisside of the ship, a strong room occupied the lazaret space (aye, thesame strong room which so tickled the fancy of some of my shipmates!). The Chinaman had planned with foresight; he had even disposed storesbelow to convenience and shield the man who played rescuer. When Idropped through the hole, the lady told me, I would find myself in anarrow alleyway, walled with tiers of beef casks and other stores; if Ifollowed this alleyway I would come to the lazaret hatch, near whereNewman was secured. 

She thought I should wait until I heard the captain leave the lazaret. But to this I demurred. The success of the scheme might well dependupon the leeway of a moment's time. The ship's noises, always presentin a ship's hold, would cover any slight noise I might make. Truth totell, that sound of Newman in pain had thrown me into a fever ofimpatience to get to his side; and I suspect it rendered the lady lesscautious, too. 

"God bless you, Boy--and, oh, be careful, " she whispered. 

I drew back the blanket, and lowered my body into the opening. I hungby my hands an instant, and felt her draw the blanket over my head asshe covered the hole again. Then I let go, and dropped. 

CHAPTER XXI

I crouched behind a row of flour barrels, which stood on end handy tothe hatch, and peered through the chinks. The captain had hung hislantern on a beam overhead, and its rays limned like a stage-setting anopen space some six feet square. Aye, a stage-setting, and the scene atorture chamber. I bit my lips to restrain a cry of horror and ragewhen I looked through the chinks between the barrels, and it was withdifficulty I kept myself from rushing forth and falling upon the fiendwho had contrived and was enjoying the scene. 

Captain Swope was seated upon an upturned keg. He had placed thelantern so its light fell full upon Newman (it illumined himself, formy eyes, as well) and he was talking to the prisoner, mocking him. 

And Newman! It was the sight of him that made me choke, that made mefinger my knife hilt. Newman--my friend!

He was at the far end of that open space, trussed up to the starboardlimbers. Trussed up--and in what way! You will remember, when theyplaced him under arrest, the captain ordered his hands ironed behindhis back. The reason was now apparent. His hands were still behindhis back; aye, when they trussed him up, they drew up his hands untilthey were on a level with his head, and secured him in that position. His feet were also ironed, and the chain lashed to a limber. So hestood, or rather hung--for he could not stand properly with his armswrenched back in that position--and the whole weight of his bodydragged upon his wrists and shoulder blades. So he had stood duringthe hours that had passed since afternoon. Torture, agony--that iswhat it meant to be trussed up in that position. 

I thought I recognized Fitzgibbon's handiwork in this torture; though Idare say it was originally Swope's invention. But we had seenFitzgibbon use this same method of inflicting pain and terror, we menforward. One day, for an imagined insolence, he had trussed up Niggerto the mainmast in this very fashion, and left him there for a shorthalf-hour. After five minutes Nigger was wild with pain. When he wascut down, his arms seemed paralyzed, and it was a full day ere the achepassed from them. 

And Newman had been enduring this pain for hours. But now, I thought, he must be mercifully unconscious, for his head hung upon his breast, and he made no sign that he heard the captain's gibes. 

It was sport to Swope's liking, and he was enjoying himself rightroyally. Aye, I could tell. The words that slid between his full lipswere laden with the sensuous delight their utterance gave the speaker. I lay in my retreat waiting for the hail that would draw the beast ondeck, and while I waited I listened to him, and observed his manner. Oh, Swope was having a fine time, a happy time. If the lady had nottaken the revolver from me, I fear I should have shot the man despitemy promise. As it was my sheath knife lay bared in my hand, and I hadto fight myself to keep from leaping the barrier and confronting him. Aye, to face him, and make him eat the steel out of my hand!

Yes, Swope was in a happy mood. A rollicking, loquacious mood. Hetalked. Unconsciously he made me witness to his confession of blacktreacheries, and deeds more loathsome than I could have imagined myself. 

When I reached my position behind the barrels, and was able todistinguish his words--he was boasting of and baring his secrets in avoice not meant to carry beyond Newman's ears--he was taunting Newman. 

"Well, why don't you call upon God to help you?" says he. "He hashelped you a lot in the past, hasn't he, Roy? And He has helped her alot, hasn't he? Helped her to stand me. Oh, that's a joke! The justand merciful One--d'you remember how old Baintree used to rant? Youapproved, didn't you. You agreed with old Baintree. So did I, Roy, tohis face. 

"But you--why you were a damned Puritan, Roy. You wouldn't do this, you wouldn't do that, you would be clean of vice--your very words, Roy!--and you would be honest and just with men. That's the sort ofthing that paid, says you. 

"And didn't it pay you, though! Ho, ho; it's too rich, Roy! You wouldmake yourself as good a man as old Baintree; you would make yourselfworthy of his daughter. Remember telling me that? And didn't you, though--with my help! My help, Roy--not God's! It was Black Angus andthe Devil did it!

"Well, well, I thought I would surprise you with my little tale of howI used the Twigg girl to spoil your chance with Mary. But Beasleysurprised you instead. Didn't he, now? A neat trick, eh, Roy? Younever guessed?

"You never guessed, either, all that I had planned for you that time. If you hadn't been in such a hurry to leave town! But then--I was justas well pleased. With Beulah out of the way as well as you--it wasplain sailing with Mary, Roy. 

"No, I never wanted Mary. Not for herself. She's not my kind, Roy; adamned, sniveling saint isn't my idea of a woman. But I wanted hermoney. Old Baintree's money. And I got it. 

"I got Baintree, too. It was necessary; I had to kill the old fool. He knew too much about me, and if he told Mary--well, I was playing thesaint with her, just then. He would never have consented to hermarrying me; and also--the money, you know. So I eliminated him, Roy. And God let you suffer for what I did! Ho, ho, that's rich, isn't it?Come to think of it, it's sound theology--vicarious atonement, eh? Yougot stripes, and I got Mary--and her money, which I have spent mostpleasurably. 

"But you were always a fool, Roy--a stupid, trusting fool. You trustedme, didn't you? I was your bosom friend, your boyhood chum, whose wildways grieved you. Fool, fool, if you had possessed the wit of ajackass you would have known I hated you! Hate, hate, hate! I havehated you all my life, Roy! I hated you when we were boys and you mademe take second place. I have hated you ever since; I hate you now--somuch it is almost love, Roy! Eh, but I never love. I hate. And whenI hate--I hurt!"

To all this tirade Newman returned no answer. He did not seem to hear. He hung silent in his bonds, his head on his breast and his facehidden. He might have been unconscious. I thought he was, for he didnot even look up when the captain was excitedly chanting his hate. Swope was plainly piqued at this indifference; he got up from his kegand stepped close to Newman. 

"But you are not thinking of yourself, are you, Roy?" he says. "Youare thinking of her, I know. How sweet! Sentiment was always yourstrong point. Well, think hard about her, Roy, think your fill; forshe is almost as near her end as you are near yours. But not quite sonear. I intend to break that haughty spirit before I--er--eliminateher. Oh, yes, it will break. Trust me to know the sure way. Roy, don't you want to know what I am going to do to Mary?"

He paused a moment, and, chuckling and smacking his lips, stood lookingat Newman's bowed figure. Then he said slowly and deliberately, actually lingering over the words. "I am going to make a strumpet ofthe wench for Fitzgibbon's pleasure!"

Newman stirred. "Ah, that wakes you up!" cried Swope. It did, indeed. Newman was not unconscious. I could have wished he was, so he mightnot have heard those words. He lifted his face to the light, and Icould see the sweat of agony upon it. He did not speak. He justlooked at the man in front of him. It was a look of unutterableloathing; his expression was as though he were regarding somethingindescribably obscene and revolting. And then he pursed his lips andspat in Captain Swope's face. 

The skipper stepped back, and swabbed his cheek with his sleeve. Ithought he would strike Newman, kick him, practice some devilishcruelty upon him in payment. Aye, I was crouched for the spring, withmy sheath knife ready; if he had laid finger upon Newman I should havehad his life in an instant. I was all the barbarian that moment, mynew-found scruples forgotten. I was in a killing mood. What man wouldnot have been. 

But Captain Swope did not attempt to repay the insult with any physicalcruelty. He knew he was already racking his enemy's body to the limitof endurance, and his aim, I discovered, was to supplement this bodilysuffering with mental torture. Indeed, Swope seemed pleased atNewman's act. He laughed as he wiped his face. 

"That stings--eh, Roy? It's true--be certain of that, you soft-heartedfool. I tell the truth sometimes, Roy--when it serves my purpose. AndI want you to imagine the details of what is going to happen to her. Think of it, Roy--the Lady of the _Golden Bough_, the saintly Mrs. Swope, the sweet Mary Baintree that was--lying in Fitzgibbon's arms!Pretty thought!"

Chuckling, Swope resumed his seat. He leaned forward, and watchedNewman with hawklike intensity. But Newman gave him little cause tochortle; his head dropped again upon his breast, and he gave no sound, no movement. 

"Why don't you call on God?" asked Swope. "Why don't you call on me?"

Newman lifted his head. "You degenerate beast!" he said. He said itevenly, without passion, and immediately withdrew his features from theother's scrutiny. 

But the captain was satisfied. He slapped his thigh with delight. 

"It stings, eh, Roy? It burns! It runs through your veins like fire!Doesn't it? It's a hot thought. And here's another one to keep itcompany-- You can do nothing to prevent it! To hairy old Fitz she'llgo--and you can't prevent it! Think of that, Roy!"

Newman gave no sign he heard, but the black-hearted villain on the kegknew that the big fellow's ears were open and that his words were likestabs in a raw wound. He talked on, and described villainies to comeand villainies accomplished; the tale of his misdeeds seemed to possesshim. He gloried in them, gloated over them. And as I listened, Irealized, ignorant young whelp though I was, that this man wasdifferent from any man I had ever met or imagined. He wasn't human; hewas a freak, a human-looking thing with a tiger's nature. 

Always he reminded me of a cat, from the very first moment I clappedeyes upon him; never did he remind me more of a cat--or tiger--thanwhen he sat upon the keg and teased Newman. He seemed to purr hiscontent with the situation. 

"I know what you are thinking, Roy, " says he. "You are thinking thatmy brave and upright second mate will prevent it happening to our dearlittle Mary? Am I right, eh? Vain thought. Our friend, Lynch, willnot be here to interfere. I have seen to that. He grows dangerous, does Jim Lynch, so--elimination. Ah, I could write a treatise upon theArt of Elimination--couldn't I? Angus Swope, the great eliminator! Itis my specialty, Roy. 

"Neatness, thoroughness, dispatch, everything shipshape, no loose endsflying--that's my style, Roy. Now there was neatness and dispatchabout my running you out of Freeport when I found your presence thereinconvenient. Don't you think there was? Eh, you great fool? Youpulled my chestnuts out of the fire very nicely indeed. But I was notas thorough as I should have been in that affair. A loose end, or two, eh, Roy? Beasley--and yourself. Ah--but I improved with practice. Ileft no loose end that night in Bellingham, did I? Unless the factthat your neck didn't stretch, as I intended, could be called a looseend. But then--you'll be tucked out of sight again very soon, and thistime for good and all. I never did believe in imprisonment for life, Roy; it is such a cruel punishment. I'm a tender-hearted man, Roy--ho, ho, that's rich, eh? I told that judge, after he sentenced you, thathe would have been acting more kindly had he disregarded the jury'srecommendation and hanged you out of hand. And do you know what hetold me, Roy? He said I was right, that you deserved hanging. Ho, ho, deserved hanging! And he was a godly man, Roy. 

"Oh, what a great fool you were! How easily I made you play my game!That night you had me to dinner on board your ship, in Bellingham--younever guessed why I fished for that invitation? Why I persuaded you tosend your mates ashore that night? Just another of Angus' scrapes, thought you; he wants to confide in me, and ask my advice. Angus wantsmy help, thought you. So I did, Roy, so I did. 

"I needed your help badly. But not the kind or help you would haveoffered; no, I needed your help in a different way. I needed acatspaw, Roy. 

"I was skating on pretty thin ice just about then, Roy, I needed oldBaintree's money. I needed Mary to get the money. But Mary was onlywilling to take me because her father wished her to; and I was heartilysick of playing the saint to stand well with him. Oh, well, I'll tellyou--why not? The old hypocrite had a Puritan's sharp eyes, and he hadcaught me in a slip-up or two, and I knew he was about to tell Mary tobreak the betrothal. And there was another thing, a little investmentI handled for him. He was bound to discover about it shortly, when thepayments were due, and--well, you know, Roy, what an absurd attitude hehad towards a little slip like that. I was in a rather desperate fix, you see; yes, I really needed your help, Roy. 

"Besides there was you, yourself, to be taken care of. You were one ofmy worries, not a big worry, but still a worry. What if you forgotyour pride? What if Mary forgot her pride? Of course, you were inBellingham, and outward bound; and she was home in Freeport--but whocan tell what a woman will do where her heart is concerned? Besides, Ihated you, damn you! I was not going to overlook the luck that broughtthe three of us into the same port at the same time. You had been mycatspaw once; why not again?

"So I had you invite me off to dinner. That cozy little dinner, inyour own cabin, just you and I, and Stord to wait on us. I bet younever guessed until your trial that your steward was my man, if youguessed it then. Aye, body and soul my man. When I crooked my finger, Stord bent his body. 

"Do you remember that dinner, Roy? I bet you do! I crucified you, damn you! You would be brave, you would be gallant, eh? You wouldcongratulate me upon the coming marriage, toast the best man, who hadwon the race. Oh, I enjoyed your hospitality that night! How youwrenched out the words! You didn't want to talk about Mary, did you?But I made you talk, I made you squirm, eh? And then, when I was sickof your platitudes--just a nod to Stord, and three little drops ofchloral in your glass!

"Do you want to know what happened next? I'll lay that you've wonderedmany a time just what happened after you had so strangely droppedasleep, with your head in your plate. Well, I'll tell you whathappened. I sent Stord on the run to Baintree's hotel. He bore amessage from you. He told the dear captain that you were ill, on yourship, and that you wished very much to see him. You can guess how theold fool would act in a case like that. A chance to do a good deed, store up treasures in heaven, all that, eh? You might have been a badman in Freeport, but, you were sick and needed him. 

"He came in a hurry, all a-flutter like an old hen. Just as I knew hewould come. And as he leaned over you, in your own cabin, I--er--separated him from his temporal worries with an iron belayingpin from your own rail. Then I gave you the clout for luck (it hasleft a fine scar, I note) and placed the pin on the table. And thusyour chief mate discovered you when he came on board, you and yourvictim, and the weapon you used, just as I planned. And your steward'stestimony, and my reluctant admissions, finished you. You see, Roy--neatness and thoroughness!

"I took Stord to sea with me, as my steward. But, unfortunately, hewent over the side one dark night, off the Horn. A loose end tuckedin, eh, Roy?

"And I'll tuck in other loose ends between now and dawn--you, forinstance, and our brave Mister Lynch. I have it already written downfor Fitz to copy into the logbook. 'During the fighting, James Lynch, second mate, was stabbed by one of the mutineers; but owing to thedarkness and confusion his assailant was not recognized. ' That's howthe log will read when we bowse into port. And--'During the fighting, the sailor, Newman, attempted to escape from custody, and was shot bythe captain. ' You see, Roy, everything shipshape! A line for each inthe log--and two loose ends tucked in--eliminated!

"You will have some time in which to think it over, before it happens, Roy. You should thank me for that--for giving you something to thinkabout. It will take your mind off your pain, eh? Yes, you needsomething to think about, for you'll hang there for four or five hoursyet. No danger of your sleeping, eh, Roy? Well, keep your ears openand you'll be forewarned. There'll be some shooting on deck. I'vegone to a great deal of trouble to bring it about; your shipmates are agutless crew, Roy, and I had begun to think I could not get a fight outof them. But the swabs are coming aft at the end of the mid-watch. Eight bells in the mid-watch--count the bells, Roy. Eightbells--elimination!

"Then there will be just one loose end left--and you know what I haveplanned for her! Think about it, Roy--think about our darling littleMary! At the mercy of the wolves, Roy! At the mercy of our dear, gentle Fitzgibbon! At the mercy--yes, I do believe at the mercy, also, of my new second mate. 

"Oh, yes, he is already nominated for the office. Of course, he mustfirst remove the incumbent--but that, as I explained, is arranged for. He is a greasy cockney, gutter-snipe--but useful. I wouldn't think ofhaving him at table with me, Roy--but I think I'll let him amusehimself with Mary--after Fitz! Ah, that stings, eh, Roy!"

It did, indeed. Newman lifted the face of a madman to his torturer. Aye, the creature's vile words, and viler threat, had stung him beyondhis power of self-control. All the pent-up fury in his soul burstforth in one explosive oath. 

"God blast you forever, Angus!" he cried. 

Just that, and no more. Newman had his grip again. He was no man toindulge in impotent ravings. 

But the outburst was sufficient to delight Captain Swope. He threwback his head and laughed that chuckling, demon's laugh of his. Delighted--why, he could hardly control himself to keep his seat on thekeg, and as he laughed his feet beat a jig upon the deck. 

"I told you to call upon God!" was his gleeful answer to Newman. "Andyou have! Now, we'll see who wins--you and God, or Angus and theDevil! Eh, Roy--who wins?

"We'll see, Roy--we'll see if God takes your advice. We'll see if Hehelps you, or Lynch. Or Mary. Ah, the saintly Mary, the pure, theunapproachable! We'll see if He protects her from Fitz's dirty arms, or the greasy kisses of the Cockney! Eh, Roy? We'll see if He keepsher from--eliminating herself!

"That's the way of it, Roy. Clever--yes? Neatness and thoroughness, and everything shipshape and Bristol fashion--that's my style, Roy. Iknow Mary (who should know her better than her legal spouse, eh, Roy?)and I have arranged matters so she will tuck in her own end. Listen, Roy, I have another item for the logbook which Fitzgibbon will copy. It needs but a date-line to be complete. It will read like this:'To-day, while suffering from an attack of temporary insanity, thecaptain's wife destroyed herself. The captain is broken-hearted. 'With details added, Roy. And the yarn cabled home when we make port. Suicide at sea--and I am broken-hearted! Artistic, eh? And she'll doit--you know she'll do it!"

He sat there watching Newman, waiting. I suppose he expected anddesired a fresh outburst from the prisoner. But in this he wasdisappointed; Newman gave no sign. 

"Ah, well, I fear I've overstayed my welcome this visit, " he said, finally. He got to his feet, and stood before Newman with legsspraddled and arms akimbo; drinking in lustfully the picture of theother man's utter misery. "Interesting chat we've had--old times, future, and all that--eh, Roy? But a sailor's work, you know--like awoman's--never done. I have duties to attend to, Roy. But I willreturn--ah, yes, you know I will return. You'll wait here for me, eh, Roy? Anxiously awaiting my return, counting the bells against mycoming. Well--remember--eight bells in the middle watch. "

He turned and stepped towards the ladder. With his foot raised to thebottom step, he stopped, and stared aloft, mouth agape. I stared too, and listened. 

We heard a shot, a single pistol shot. 

The captain wheeled upon Newman. His hand flew to his pistol pocket. But he did not draw. He would have died then and there, if he had, forI was tensed for the leap. 

But he was uncertain. This was not the hour--and the other shots, thevolley, we both expected did not come. Instead, came the second mate'svoice bellowing orders, "Connolly--the wheel! Hard alee! Weather mainbrace!" Then, clearer, as he shouted through the cabin skylights, "Captain--on deck, quick!"

It was the hail for which I had waited so long and anxiously. But thenews that came with it was strange and startling. 

"The man at the wheel, " shouted Lynch, "has jumped overboard with themate!" Then his cry went forward, "Man overboard!"

Swope leaped for the ladder. I saw consternation in his face as hescurried aloft. 

So I knew that this was something he hadn't arranged. 

CHAPTER XXII

I was at Newman's side before Captain Swope's feet vanished from theladder. If he had paused to close the lazaret hatch behind him, hemust surely have seen me. But he did not pause; I heard his stepsracing up the companion stairs to the poop, and his voice shouting hiscommand: "Watch the main deck, Mister! Light a flare!"

I threw my arms about Newman, and babbled in his ear. "Oh, thebeast!--it's I--Jack--the devil, I heard what he said!--come to freeyou!" Truth to tell, the things I had overheard unnerved me somewhat, and I was incoherent, almost, from rage and horror. 

But Newman brought me to myself in short order. "I know--but not soloud--they'll hear you!" Aye, his first words, and he smiled into myface. This man on the rack smiled, and thought clearly, whilst Ibabbled. "Be quick, " he bade me. "Cut the lashings. "

I obeyed in jig time. The chains of both the hand and foot irons weresecured to the limbers by rope lashings. With two strokes of my knifeI severed them. Before I could catch him, Newman fell forward upon hisface. His misused limbs could not support him. 

I knelt by his side, sobbing and spluttering, and fishing in my pocketfor the key the lady had given me. It was the sight of his raw, bleeding wrists and ankles that maddened me; aye, the sight of themwould have maddened a saint. You will recall that the Old Man hadcommanded that Newman's wrists be tightly cuffed; and he had seen to itthat the leg cuffs were equally tight. Tight ironing was a favoritesport of Swope's; he was notorious for it among sailormen. I saw theresults upon Newman. 

The flesh above the irons was puffed and inflamed; the constriction andchafing had broken the skin, and the cuffs upon both arms and legs wereburied in the raw wounds. Exquisite agony--aye, trust Swope to producethat! I had to push back the swollen, bruised mass before I couldinsert the little flat key, and effect the release. 

When I had them off, I turned Newman over on his back, and, with my armabout him, prepared to lift him erect. Before I could do so, assistance arrived. Light feet pattered down the lazaret ladder; therewas a swish of skirts, a gasp, and the lady was on her knees byNewman's side. "Roy--Roy--I was in time--" she cried. Her arms wentaround his neck. 

I released him to her for the instant, and straightened up andlistened. There was noise on deck, and confusion. The ship was instays; she hung there, aback. I could hear Lynch, somewhere forward, bawling orders; and overhead, Swope sang out to the wheel, and thenhailed the roundhouse. 

"Roundhouse, there--on deck and lend a hand! Man thelifeboat--lifeboat falls, there! For God's sake, Mister--what's thematter there on deck?"

Oh, he was worried, was Swope. It showed in his voice; for once histone was not full and musical, it was shrill and screechy. He wassorely shaken, madly anxious to save his faithful jackal; theEliminator had not planned Fitzgibbon's removal. 

Thoughts, questions, rushed through my mind. I listened for othersounds, for shots and shouts and sounds of strife. For there wasconfusion up there on the dark decks, and the captain had forgotten hiscaution and withdrawn his ambush. I knew that Boston and Blackie wouldnot overlook this chance; promise or no promise they would profit bythis occasion. 

It was this thought that spurred me to action. We must get out of thishole we were in; the lazaret was a trap. The die was cast; the mutinywas on--or would be in a moment. 

I said as much to my companions. Newman attempted to get to his feet. "A hand, Jack--it must be stopped, " he said. 

I gave him the hand. More than that, I took him upon my back andtottered up the ladder with him, the lady assisting as well as she wasable. She knew what had happened on deck, and she told us in a word ortwo. 

She had not been able to find Wong (we afterwards discovered that Wonghad gone forward to the galley, and surprised the crew at a conference, and had been detained prisoner by them), so she crawled up thecompanion ladder herself, and lurked in the cuddy, waiting for a chanceto speak with Lynch. The Nigger was at the wheel, she said. Fitzgibbon walked up to him and struck him--as he had struck him many, many times before. But this time Nigger did not submit--he whipped outhis knife and stabbed the mate. More than that, he grasped the mate inhis powerful arms, dragged him to the taffrail, and flung himoverboard. It happened so quickly that neither Connolly, thetradesman, nor Lynch, both of whom were on the poop, could interfere. But Lynch took a shot at Nigger, and perhaps struck him, for Niggerwent over the rail and into the sea with his victim. 

It was Nigger, despised, half-lunatic Nigger, who was not in myreckoning, nor in Swope's, who put the match to the tinder and upsetsuch carefully laid plans. As I feared, the revolt of the crew blazedup immediately. My shipmates were eager, too eager. As it turned out, their precipitancy was to cost them their chance of victory, for theybegan to riot while the three tradesmen were still handy to theroundhouse door, though, indeed, they had no knowledge, as had I, ofthe captain's ambuscade. 

I staggered into the saloon, and set Newman down upon the divan whichran around the half-round, and which was but a step from the hatch. Hegot to his feet at once, and, though the lady and I stretched out ourarms to catch him, this time he did not fall. He swayed drunkenly, andhobbled when he took a step, but such was his vitality and so strongthe urge of his will, that life was already returning to his misusedlimbs. 

It was just then that pandemonium broke out on deck--a shot, a stringof shots and a bedlam of howls and yells. Overhead was bedlam, too. The skipper's tune changed instanter. He had been singing out toMister Lynch to "topsail haul, " and to the tradesmen to man the boatfalls--but now he was screaming to the latter in a voice shaken withexcitement--or panic--to regain their posts, to get into the roundhouseand "turn loose on 'em--pepper 'em! And, for God's sake, throw out theflares!"

Oh, the Great Eliminator was shocked most unpleasantly In that moment, I think--to discover, when his trusty mate was overboard, that hismutinous crew had firearms!

I looked to Newman for orders, for he was now in command of our forlornhope. But he had his arm about the lady's shoulders, and was speakingurgently into her ear. My thought was of a place to hide. I rantowards the cabin alleyway. I had no intention of going out on thatdangerous deck, my object was to see if the inner door to thesail-locker was unlocked. In the sail-locker, I thought, we couldhide, the three of us, until the fight died down. 

But my design was frustrated. Before I reached the sail-locker, thedoor to the deck, at the end of the alleyway, burst open, and thetradesman, Morton, pitched headlong over the base-board. He scrambledto his hands and knees and scuttled towards me. There was a whistlingthud near my head. I leaped back into the cabin, out of range, soquickly I tripped and sat down hard upon the deck. For a shot firedafter the fleeting Morton had just missed my skull. 

Morton crawled into the saloon, and looked at me with a stupid wonderin his face. He was wounded; he nursed his shoulder, and there was aspreading stain upon his white shirt. 

"They have guns--in the rigging, " says he. Then he grunted, andcollapsed, unconscious. 

The heavy roar of shotguns, for which my ear was cocked, did not come. There were two pistols in action overhead, and pistol shots rattledforward, and I could tell from the sounds that a free fight was ragingsomewhere on the main deck. But the heavier discharges did not come. For an instant I thought--aye, and hoped!--that the tradesmen had beencut off from the roundhouse. 

Suddenly the saloon grew bright with a reflected glare. I was on myfeet again, and I peered into the alleyway, looking out through thedoor Morton had opened. The roundhouse cut off any view of the maindeck, but I could see that the whole deck, aye, the whole ship, wasalight with a growing glare, a dazzling greenish-white light. 

Then I knew what Captain Swope meant when he screamed for "flares. "Distress flares, signal flares, such as a ship in trouble might use. He had stocked the roundhouse with them. 

Cunning, aye, deadly cunning. This was something Boston and Blackiehad not dreamed of. A flare thrown on deck when the men came aft--andslaughter made easy for the defenders of the roundhouse!

Something of this I spoke aloud to Newman. There was no answer, and Ibecame conscious he was not behind me. I wheeled about. Newman, withthe lady's assistance, was hobbling up the ladder to the deck above. Iswore my amazement and dismay at what seemed to me madness, but Ihurried after them, and emerged on the poop at their heels. 

The night was banished by the strong light flaring forward. That wasmy impression when I leaped out on deck. When I turned forward, I sawthe whole ship, clear to the foc'sle, bathed in that light. Not one, but a half dozen flares were burning at once; they had been thrown uponthe deck both to port and starboard. Everything on the decks wasbrightly revealed, every ringbolt, the pins in the rails, deadeyes, sails, gear, aye, every rope in the rigging was boldly etched againstthe glowing background. With that one sweeping glance I took in thescene. High up in the main rigging, almost to the futtock shrouds, thefigure of a man was revealed: he was blazing away in the direction ofthe poop with a revolver. On the deck, near the mainmast, the secondmate was laying about him with a capstan bar, and a dozen men seemedboiling over each other in efforts to close with him. Other figureslay motionless upon the deck. 

So much for what I saw forward; what concerned me that instant was whatwas right before my eyes. Captain Swope was leaning against the mizzenfife rail, screened by the mast from those forward, returning the fireof the man in the rigging--but no, even as I clapped eyes upon him, heshot, and I saw he aimed, not at the man in the rigging, but at thegroup fighting on the deck. At his second officer, no less! Aye, andI understood in a flash why I had not beard the shotguns; the tradesmenhad not Swope's murderous intent towards Mister Lynch. And they heldtheir fire because they could not rake the gang without hitting Lynch. 

The tradesman, Connolly, was crouched against the companion hatch; hewas staring after Newman and the lady, mouth agape. He saw themdirectly they appeared on deck, which Swope did not. He raised his gununcertainly, then lowered it, then raised it again, covering Newman'sbroad back--and by that time I was upon him, my clutch was upon hiswrist, and my right fist impacted violently against his head. It was aknockout blow, at the base of the brain, and he slumped down, unconscious. I straightened up, with the gun in my hand. 

It was at this instant that Captain Swope became aware of our presence. It was Newman, himself, who attracted his attention--aye, and theattention of the whole ship, as well. 

For Newman had marched into the light. He stood now almost at theforward poop rail, with his arms raised above his head; and he sent hisvoice forward in a stentorian hail, a cry that was like a thunderclap. 

"Stop fighting, lads! Stop it, I say! It is I--Newman! Stop fightingand go for'ard!"

If ever a human face showed amazement and discomfiture, Swope's did. He had been so busy at his game of potting his officer he did not seeNewman until the latter walked into his range of vision and sent forthhis hail. He could have shot Newman then, and I could not haveprevented, for he had his weapon leveled. But this sudden apparitionseemed to paralyze him; he just lowered his arm, and stared. 

It startled and paralyzed all hands. The struggle on the main deckceased abruptly. It was the strangest thing I ever beheld, the wayNewman's thunderous command seemed to turn to graven images the men ondeck. They were frozen into grotesque attitudes, arms drawn back tostrike, boots lifted to kick. Mister Lynch stood with his capstan barpoised, as though he were at bat in a baseball game. Every face waslifted to the giant figure standing there on the poop. I even saw inthe brilliant light a white face framed in one of the portholes in theroundhouse. 

Newman repeated his command. He did not beg or entreat; he commanded, and I don't think there was a sailor or stiff on the main deck who, after his first word, dreamed of disobeying him. Such was the bigman's character superiority, such was the dominance his personality hadacquired over our minds. I tell you, we of the foc'sle looked uponNewman as of different clay; it was not alone my hero-worship thatmagnified his stature, in all our eyes he was one of the great, a beingapart from and above us. 

And not only foc'sle eyes regarded him in this light. There were thetradesmen peering out of the roundhouse ports, with never a thought intheir minds of disobeying his injunction. I had it from their own lipsafterwards; it was not just surprise at the big fellow's suddenappearance that stayed their hands, it was the power of hispersonality. There was Mister Lynch, arrested by Newman's voice inmid-stroke, as it were. There was Swope, standing palsied andimpotent, with a growing terror in his face. 

"Go for'ard, lads! Go below! Come up here, Lynch! Not another blow, men--for'ard with you!"

The frozen figures on the deck came to life. There was a murmur, ashuffling of feet, and Lynch lowered his great club. But it was anobedient noise. 

From one quarter came the single note of dissent. The man in the mainrigging sang out. It was Boston's voice. 

"Go aft, mates!" he shouted. "We've got them--we've won--don't listento him!" Then he threw his voice at Newman. "Damn you, Big 'Un, you've spoiled the game!" A flash followed the oath, and a splinterflew from the deck at Newman's feet. 

There was a flash from my gun as well. I fired without takingconscious aim; I swear, an invisible hand seemed to lift my arm, afinger not mine seemed to press the trigger--and that greedy, murderousrascal in the rigging screamed, and loosed his hold. He struck thesheer pole in his descent, and bounced into the sea. 

The shots seemed to awaken Captain Swope from his surprise and terror. He had suddenly moved with catlike swiftness; when I lowered my eyesfrom the rigging, I saw he had left his refuge behind the mizzenmastand was standing in the open deck. Aye, there he stood in that light, which had reached its maximum, revealed to all eyes--and stamped uponhis face was an expression of insane fury so terrible and deadly heseemed not a human being at all, but a mad beast crouched to spring. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, and a froth appeared upon hisblack beard. The crowd forward saw the demon unmasked in his face, even as I saw it, and from them arose a gasping "_a-ah_!" of horror. 

The sound caused the lady, who was standing at Newman's elbow, to turnaround; or perhaps it was the feel of Swope's burning eyes that spunher about so quickly. He was raising his arm, the arm that held thegun, not quickly but slowly and carefully. With a stab of horror I sawhim aim, not at the man, but at the woman. 

No outside power this time seemed to aid me. I shot. I should havehit the beast, he was not ten paces distant--but only a click answeredwhen my hammer fell. My gun was empty. I threw up my arm, intendingto hurl the weapon, and I think I cried out. Swope shot--and the ladythrew up her hands and fell. 

You must understand, this all happened in a brief instant of time. Aye, it was but a short moment since we stepped out on deck. Whathappened after that shot must be measured by seconds. 

For the lady was still falling, and my hand was still reaching behindme to gather energy for a throw, when Newman bore down upon his enemy. I had not seen him turn around even, and there he was at arm's gripswith the captain. There was another flash from Swope's revolver, inNewman's very face. It was a miss, for Newman's hands--helpless lumpsof flesh but a few moments before--closed upon Swope's neck. I sawNewman's face. It was a terrible face, the face of an enraged andsmiting god. The great scar stood out like a dark line painted uponhis forehead. 

He lifted Swope from his feet with that throat grip. He whirled himlike a flail, and smashed him down upon the deck, and let him go. Andthere Yankee Swope lay, sprawled, and still, his head bent back at afatal angle. A broken neck, as a glance at the lolling head wouldinform; and, as we discovered later, a broken back as well. It wasdeath that Newman's bare hands dealt in that furious second. 

Newman did not waste so much as a glance at the work of his hands. Hehad turned to the lady, with a cry in his throat, a low cry of pain andgrief--which changed at once to a shout of gladness. For the lady wasstirring, getting to her feet, or trying to. 

Newman gathered her slight form into his great arms. I heard himexclaim, "Where, Mary? Did it--" And she answered, dazedly, "I am allright--not hit. " He took a step towards me, towards the companion. The swelling murmur from the deck arrested him. 

He walked to the break of the poop, with the woman in his arms. Sheseemed like a child held to his breast. He spoke to the men below in ahushed, solemn voice. 

"It is ended, " he said. "Swope is dead. "

As he stood there, the flares commenced to go out. One by one theyguttered and extinguished, and the black night swept down like afalling curtain. 

Five bells chimed in the cabin. 

CHAPTER XXIII

It was the end, even as Newman said. The end of the mutiny, the end ofhate and dissension in that ship, the end, for us, of Newman, himself, and the lady. Peace came to the _Golden Bough_ that night, for thefirst time, I suppose, in her bitter, blood-stained history. A peacethat was bought with suffering and death, as we discovered when wereckoned the cost of the night's work. 

Swope was dead--for which there was a prayer of thanks in every man'sheart. Fitzgibbon was gone, and the Nigger. Boston was dead at myhand; his partner, Blackie, lay stark in the scuppers, as did also thestiff named Green, each with a bashed in skull, the handiwork of MisterLynch. 

Such was the death list for that night's work. It was no heavier Ithink--though of much different complexion--than the list Captain Swopehad planned. 

As for wounded--God's truth, the _Golden Bough_ was manned by a crew ofcripples for weeks after. Lynch had wrought terribly, there on themain deck--broken pates, broken fingers, a cracked wrist, a brokenfoot, and three men wounded, though not seriously, by Swope's andConnolly's shots. Such were the foc'sle's lighter casualties. Aft, the list was shorter. Morton had a bullet wound in the shoulder; itwould lay him up for the rest of the passage, but was not dangerous. Connolly had a lump behind his ear. Lynch was bruised a bit, and hisclothes were slashed to ribbons, otherwise he had escaped scathless. 

The lady was not really hurt at all. Swope's bullet plowed through hermass of hair, creasing her so lightly the skin was unbroken, though theimpact knocked her down. 

I was almost the only man on the ship who bore no marks of that fight, though I was a sight from the beating, and Lynch--or perhaps it wasNewman--made me bo'sun of the deck in the labor of bringing order outof chaos. I rallied the unhurt and lightly hurt, and we carried theworse injured into the cabin, where the lady and Newman attended them. I opened the barricaded galley, and freed the frightened Chinamen, Wongand the cook and the cabin boy, and Holy Joe, the parson. As I learnedafterwards, Holy Joe, when he learned of the intended mutiny, threatened, in vain attempt to stop it, to go aft and blow the plot. Blackie and Boston wanted to kill him for the threat, but thesquareheads would not have it so, and he was shut up in the galley withthe Chinamen. 

By Lynch's order, we launched the dinghy, and, with me at the tillerand two lordly tradesmen at the oars, set out in humane but hopelessquest for the mate and the Nigger. I cruised about for nigh an hour, and came back empty-handed. We had not really expected to find them, or trace of them. Fitzgibbon had been stabbed, and it was known, also, that he did not know how to swim; and as for the Nigger, "I plugged himas he jumped, " said Lynch. 

When we got back, Lynch had me muster the available hands, and welaunched the longboat. All the rest of the night, Wong and his twounder-servants cargoed that craft with stores of every kind. 

One other man had lost his mess number in that ship, we discovered, asthe night wore on. The traitor. We found not hide or hair of Cockney;he was gone from the ship, leaving no trace. At least, no trace Icould discover. But when I looked for him, I became conscious of a newattitude towards me on the part of my shipmates. I had been theirmate, in a way their leader and champion. Now, by virtue of Lynch'sword--and Newman's--I was their boss. I was no longer one of them. Aye, and sailorlike they showed it by their reserve. They saidtruthfully enough they did not know what had become of Cockney--andthey kept their guesses to themselves. But my own guess was as good, and as true. Boston and Blackie had attended to Cockney. I couldimagine how. A knife across the windpipe and a boost over the side;without doubt some such fate was Cockney's. 

Mister Lynch made no effort to put the ship on her course. We left theyards as they were, and drifted all the rest of the night. I, and theunwounded tradesmen, kept the deck; in the cabin, the lady and Newmanlabored, and conferred with Lynch and Holy Joe. Aye, Holy Joe, as wellas myself, was lifted to higher estate by that night's happenings. Helived aft, even as I, the rest of the voyage, and was doctor of bodiesas well as souls. 

Near dawn, they called me into the cabin, and put dead man's shoes uponmy feet, so to speak. 

"Shreve, it is my duty to take the ship into port, " says Lynch. "Whatwill be the outcome of tonight's work, I do not know. But I do notfear. My testimony, and that of the sailmakers and carpenters, to saynothing of your story, and the stories of the other men forward, willbe more than sufficient to convince any court of justice. There willbe no jailing because of to-night's trouble--you may tell the men that. "

"Yes, sir, " I replied. Aye, it was good news to take forward to thepoor shaking wretches in the foc'sle. 

"You understand, I am captain for the remainder of the passage, " Lynchwent on. "And I have decided to appoint you chief mate. Connolly willbe second mate. "

Aye, that was it. Jack Shreve, chief mate of the _Golden Bough_! "Ihave decided, " says Lynch--but I knew the decision belonged to Newmanand the lady, who were smiling at me across the table. 

"And you understand--they are leaving in the longboat, " added Lynch. 

I looked at my friend, and the lady, and my new honor was bitter andworthless in my mouth. 

"Take me with you, " I urged. 

"To share an outlaw's career? No, lad--we must go alone, " said Newman. I remember he added to Lynch, "If this boy proves the friend to you hewas to me, you will be a lucky man, Captain. "

The sky was just graying with the coming day when the two left theship. But before they went over the side, there took place in thegrowing light on the deck before the cabin a scene as strange andsolemn as any I have seen since. Holy Joe married them, there on thedeck--and in the scuppers, behind the lady's back, covered up with aspare sail, lay the ship's dead, Yankee Swope among them. Aye, theparson tied the knot, for this life and next, as he said, and I wasbest man, and Captain Lynch gave away the bride. 

"Roy Waldon, do you take this woman--" that was the way the parson putit, standing there before them, with his one good hand holding theBook, peering up into Newman's face through his puffed, blackened eyes. A minister in dungaree! "Mary Swope, do you take this man--" that washow he put it. And though the lady's face was wan and haggard, yetthere was a glory in it beyond power to describe. 

And then they cast off from the ship, those two who were now one. Newman stepped the mast, and drew aft the sheet, and the little craftcaught the breeze and scudded away from us. We lined the rail, lamemen and well men, and cheered our farewell. I wept. 

A long time we watched them. The sun leaped up from the sea, and thelongboat seemed to sail into its golden heart; and after the sun hadrisen above it, the boat was visible for a long time as a dwindling, ever dwindling speck. I moved up onto the poop, the longer to see. Sodid Lynch. Side by side, we watched the speck dip over the rim of thesea. 

Lynch sighed, and walked away. I heard him exclaim, and turned toobserve him picking up something from the deck. He held it out to me, in the palm of his hand. 

It was a little wisp of hair, the lady's hair, a relic of the battle. Lynch stared at it--then he looked out over the sea, into the path ofthe sun. Aye, and there was that in his eyes which opened mine. Ibegan at last to understand Bucko Lynch--"Captain" Lynch as he was toremain to the end of his days. I knew from that look in his eyes whyno parson would now ever say to him, "Do you take this woman?"

Slowly, Lynch put the little wisp of hair into his waistcoat pocket. He drew a deep breath, and shrugged his shoulders; then he hailed mewith seamanly brusqueness. 

"Lively, now, Mister--we'll put the ship on her course!"

"Yes, Captain, " I answered. And the "Mister" roared his first commandalong those decks.