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's
voice summoned the starboard watch to assist in the job the mate had
started. We hurried aft with the crowd, and I found chance to say to
him no more than,
"Be careful; someone is spying upon you. Boston told me--and I saw
him."
"Who?"
"I couldn't see. It was too dark, and he cleared out on the run. Ask
the Nigger."
When we had belayed, the watch was relieved, and Newman went aft to the
wheel. Lynch kept the rest of us on the jump, as ever, and I had no
chance to steal a word with the Nigger when he came forward. At four
bells I relieved the wheel. I found Captain Swope and the mate pacing
the poop with their heads together. As I took over the wheel, Newman
whispered to me, "Keep your weather eye lifted for squalls, Jack!"
I did not need his warning; the mere presence of either of the pair was
sufficient to keep any sailorman wide awake and watchful of his _p's_
and _q's_ while steering her. There was nothing uncommon about the Old
Man's presence; he was in the habit of appearing on the poop at all
hours of the night, though he never went forward. But for the mate to
give up his sleep in fair weather was unprecedented. There was
something in the carriage and attitude of the two, as they slowly paced
fore and aft, or stood at the break staring forward, that gave me a
feeling of impending disaster. Aye, I could smell trouble coming.
Captain Swope could smell it, too. That is why he walked the deck with
Fitzgibbon by his side. I could feel the alertness of the man. Yankee
Swope had his finger upon the pulse of his ship. A mutiny, however
sudden, would not catch the master of the _Golden Bough_ napping. That
is what I thought as I watched him, and Boston's vague scheme became
harebrained in my eyes.
The second mate was seldom aft during the two hours I stood at the
wheel. The times he did appear, he engaged in conversation with the
Old Man, beyond my hearing. But near midnight be clumped aft
hurriedly, bringing the tradesmen with him. The strollers happened to
be 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 in
it a note of contempt.
"There was danger of trouble, even before the boy went out," he went
on. "Morton stood by the door and heard it all." This Morton was the
sailmaker in the starboard watch. "The big Cockney in the port watch
was all for trouble, a rush aft of all hands; he said he had the
backing of my watch. The squareheads were willing; they want revenge.
But the big jasper in my watch, Newman, went into the foc'sle and
squelched the scheme with a word. He clapped a stopper on the
Cockney's jaw, and told the squareheads there was to be no trouble. So
there will be none, Captain."
A black curse slid out of the skipper's mouth. Aye, the man breathed
fury.
"So--he commands for'ard, eh?" he said. "Well, I command aft." He
seemed 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 another
night," he said. "Tell your men to keep their eyes and ears open.
And--better have that body carted aft, and your sailmaker fit him to
canvas. 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 moved
over to the rail, and spoke in soft tones, so I overheard nothing they
said. A ray of light from the companion hatch fell upon them, and
watching them furtively, it seemed to me that Captain Swope was laying
down the law to Fitzgibbon, giving him certain orders, to which he at
first objected, and then agreed.
It looked wicked to me, this secretive conversation. My excited mind
saw evil in it. I smelled evil, tasted evil, the very skin of my body
was prickled with the air or evil that lay upon the ship. A case of
nerves? Aye, I had nerves. Most sailormen had nerves when they were
within sight of Captain Swope. This night he seemed to drench the ship
with evil, it poured out of him as ink from a squid, it was almost
something tangible. Somehow I knew that Newman's long grace was ended.
This black villain had prepared a net to trap my friend, and was even
now casting it. Somehow I knew that fresh wrongs and miseries were to
be heaped upon the wretched foc'sle. As I watched Captain Swope out of
the corners of my eyes, God's truth, I was afraid to my marrow.
Presently the second mate returned aft. "You may have your trouble
now, Captain, if you wish," he said in the same clear, carrying voice
he had before used, as he approached the skipper. "The squareheads
won't give up the body. They'll fight if we take it. They say they'll
drop him overside themselves."
The captain appeared pleased with this news. He laughed, that soft,
musical little chuckle of his that contained so much malice and
cruelty. "Oh, let the dogs dispose of their own offal, Mister," he
said, carelessly. Then, when Lynch went down to the main deck, Swope
spoke eagerly, though in low voice, to the mate. Aye, the Old Man was
gleeful, and the mate received his instructions with servile pleasure.
Presently, they went below, and the yelp of the cabin boy--roused from
sleep, doubtless, by the toe of the skipper's boot--and the subsequent
clink 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, eager
to see what was happening in the fore part of the ship, and anxious to
speak with Newman.
The air of unease, of expectancy, which I had felt so strongly aft, was
even more evident forward. My watch, though off duty, did not go below
directly. Men were standing about whispering to each other. The wheel
and lookout had been relieved, but the mate did not summon his watch to
labor, as was his custom; he kept to the poop, and we heard not a peep
from him. The squareheads had taken a lamp from the lamp-locker and a
sack of coal from the peak, and Lindquist had the body of Nils upon the
forehatch 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 I
entered, I heard Newman say: "They are good, simple lads--use your
authority as a minister. Reason, command, do your best to convince
them they must be obedient. Tell them they will be the ones to suffer
in case of trouble."
"I will do my best," the parson answered. With a nod to me, he went
out 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 careless
response. "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 heard
some 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 of
trouble. I think he is afraid you will lead the crowd, and try to take
the 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 upon
my shoulder with a firm, friendly pressure. "Strange things happen in
this ship, eh, Jack?" said he, in a kindly voice. "No wonder you are
stumped, you are too young and straightforward to be alert to intrigue.
You do not understand, yet you are eager to risk your skin in another
man's quarrel? And you believe in me, eh, Jack?"
I felt embarrassed, and a little resentful. I did not like to be
reminded 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, not
debt, 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 to
her, 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. Heaven
knows, a man needs faith in this ship!"
Oh, but I was exalted by these words! I was in the hero-worship stage
of life, and this mysterious giant by my side was my chosen idol. The
lady aft had quickened into activity whatever chivalry my nature
contained, and it was pure, romantic delight to be told I had served
her 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 I
rushed on, eagerly, and blurted out what was on my mind. "You are in
danger; I know it, I feel it. That Old Man is planning something
against you. Remember that night on the yardarm! Remember the lady's
warning! Look at Nils! I tell you, we'll have to fight! You can
depend upon me, I'll back you to the limit in anything. So will the
squareheads--you know how desperate and bitter they are. So will the
stiffs--they are just waiting for you to say the word. Every man-jack
for'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 one
occurs, I shall help put it down."
I was astonished and crestfallen. But after a moment he went on, more
kindly.
"I know you are thinking of my safety, lad, and I thank you. But you
do not know what you are proposing. Mutiny on the high seas is
madness, and these jail-birds for'ard would be worse masters than those
we now have. Besides, you do not understand my situation--an uprising
of the crew whether or not led by me, is the very thing the captain
expects and wishes. You are quite right in thinking he intends to kill
me--and not me alone--but at present he is checkmated. I am an able
seaman, I do my work and enjoy the favor of my watch officer, and both
Lynch and the tradesmen revere the lady and hate, while they fear,
their master. But in case of a mutiny--why, Jack, those fellows aft
would unite, and back up Swope in anything he chose to do. Their own
safety 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," he
interrupted. "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 never
occurred to me that the lady might be in any danger. "You don't mean
that she would be harmed!" I exclaimed.
He nodded, and there crept into his eyes an expression grim and
desperate. "I have cursed myself for giving way to the storm of hate
and 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 talked
together, she and I. He knows he must extinguish us both if he would
rebury 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 his
will, caught napping for an instant, awoke, and drew a curtain that
shut out alien eyes.
I was dumb, ashamed and sorry to have unwittingly hurt my friend. But
now he was speaking again, in his accustomed sober, emotionless voice.
"Of course, I trust you absolutely, Jack. I'd like to tell you the
whole story. But--I am not free to talk----"
"You don't have to tell me anything," I blurted. "I know you are my
man, and you know I am your man."
"You _are_ a friend!" he exclaimed. "But I will not sail under false
colors 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 Knitting
Swede's," I explained. "I didn't try to listen, but I couldn't help
hearing him. About the frame-up they worked on you--Beulah Twigg, and
Mary--that's the lady, isn't it?--and the one Beasley called 'he'--I
know 'he' is Yankee Swope. Oh, it was a dirty trick they played on
you, Newman. I'm with you in anything you do to get even."
He shook his head, smiling. "What a young savage you are, Jack!" says
he. "An eye for an eye, eh? But you guess wrongly, lad. That
treachery you heard Beasley explain was but the beginning. I was sent
to prison for a murder, the brutal and cowardly murder of a helpless
old man."
"I know it was a frame-up," I cried. "And, anyway, I don't care. I
know 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_ intending
to become a murderer--but that madness is past. Now I am anxious to
prevent killing--any killing. Now I am determined to preserve peace in
this ship.
"For she is safe so long as I am alive, and he cannot easily dispose of
me so long as the crew is peaceful. You can understand that, can you
not? Angus Swope is a fiend; he is more than half-insane from long
indulgence of his cruel lusts. But he is cunning. I am a menace to
his safety, and now he knows that she is also a menace. But he will
not 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 strike
at 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 her
friend, remember that, Jack. He is an honest man. He is bluff and
harsh and without imagination, as brutal a bucko as one is likely to
find In any ship, but he is 'on the square,' as you put it. Also, he
has more than an inkling of the true state of affairs in the ship. He
knows who I am, and he guesses why the captain fears and hates me. I
wish I could tell you what he has done, and is doing, in my--no, in her
behalf. And in spite of his bucko's code. He would not lift a finger
to aid me in case of trouble (you remember the warning he gave us that
day we were in the rigging) for he is an officer, a bucko, and I am a
hand. But he would not stand for another such attempt at murder as
Swope made the night we were aloft. He told Swope he would not stand
for it, he would not keep silent. It was a brave thing to do, to defy
such a master. This is Lynch's last voyage in the _Golden Bough_, as
he well knows. So our canny skipper set to work his crooked wits, and
for weeks he has been fomenting a rebellion of the port watch. Mister
Fitz is a more pliant and obedient tool than Lynch."
I was excited, wide-eyed. For I was suddenly seeing a light. The
words I heard were truth, I knew. It explained what I had seen and
heard that night upon the poop. This trouble that threatened was made
to 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 ordered
these things was too horrifying.
"Nils' injury was unpremeditated, I believe," said Newman, "but leaving
him 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 a
close eye upon the boy's condition; they evidently figured that the
hour of his death would be the hour of explosion. As you know, it very
nearly 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 is
passed 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 mentioned
the names. "I will attend to them if they try any of their tricks," he
said.
"But they are, and have been, trying their tricks," I persisted, "and
for 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 knew
about the spy," I said.
He nodded. "I know; I have had an eye upon them. What Boston told you
about the treasure is quite true; the ship is carrying specie. And
they are precious rascals, capable of any villainy; I know them well,
they--they broke jail with me. But they have wit enough to know that
their gang of stiffs could put up no sort of fight, unless backed by
the sailors in the crew. It is loot they are after, and there will be
trouble from them before the ship makes port; but now we are in
mid-sea, and they realize they would be quite helpless with a ship on
their hands and no navigator. That is what they want of me. A pair of
poisonous rats, Jack!
"But they will keep quiet. They had better. I promised them I would
kill them both if they disobeyed me!"
I gazed at the big man with admiring awe. He spoke so coolly, was so
conscious of the strength and power that was in himself. Here was the
sort of man I should like to be, I thought, here was the true hard
case, no bully, no ruffian, but a man, a good man, a man so hard and
bright, 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 there
was 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 the
skipper's words to Mister Lynch. "'Let the dogs dispose of their own
offal!' 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 offers
an indignity to the boy's body, even I will not be able to restrain
Nils' mates. Surely Swope has guessed that. I have planned to bury
the lad from the foredeck just as quickly as preparations can be made;
that is why Lindquist is at work on the forehatch. If Swope is
overlooking 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 any
hazard. Common decency demands we should not let the boy be cast into
the sea by the very men who murdered him."
At the door we were met by Olson, one of the squareheads, come to tell
Newman that all was ready for the burial. So we joined the crowd, and
Nils was put away, in the dead of night, by the light of one lantern
and many stars. The hum of the wind aloft and the purr and slap of the
waters against the bows were his requiem.
That scene left its mark upon the mind of every man who took part in or
witnessed it--and every foc'sle man save the helmsman saw Nils go over
the side. It was already late in the middle watch, but no man had yet
gone to his sleep; and, considering the habits of sailors and the
custom of the sea, this single fact describes how disturbed was the
common mind.
Yet the putting away of Nils was peaceful. We knew that the mate was
not alone upon the poop, that the men aft were alert and must know what
was going on forward; but, despite Newman's fears, there was no
interference from that quarter.
Nils' bier was a painter's stage, and four of the lad's shipmates held
the plank upon their shoulders, with the weighted feet of the shrouded
form pointed outboard. The rest of us, sailors and stiffs, stood about
with bared, bowed heads; aye, and most of us, I think, with wet eyes
and tight throats. It seemed a cruel and awful thing to see one of our
number disappear forever, and Holy Joe's words, spoken so softly and
clearly, were of a kind to squeeze the hearts of even bad men. That
parson had the gift of gab; he was a skilled orator and he could play
upon 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 Holy
Joe did was lift his face to the night and pray in simple words that
Nils might have a safe passage on this long voyage he was starting.
The words seemed to wash clean our minds. For the moment the most
vicious man in that hard and vicious crowd thought cleanly and
innocently. Our wrongs and hatreds seemed small and of little
consequence. Aye, while Holy Joe prayed for the dead we stood about
like a group of awed children. When he was finished praying, he
recited the beautiful words of the Service, and raised his hand--and
the pall-bearers tipped their burden into the sea.
Silently we listened to the dull splash, silently we watched the four
men lower the stage to the deck. It was over. The parson fell into
step with Newman, and the two paced up and down, conversing in low
tones. The crowd dispersed.
Some of my watch went into the foc'sle, to their bunks. Most of the
men sat about the decks, and smoked and talked in whispers. But the
topic of Nils was avoided, as was talk of mutiny. The squareheads did
not mutter threats, the stiffs did not curse. The spell of the
parson'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 upon
a stone. There was something sinisterly suggestive about his
occupation at that hour; it was the first break in the strange calm
which had fallen upon the crew.
"Tell me, Nigger, who's the man that's spying on the big fellow?" I
said abruptly, as I sat down beside him.
Nigger did not pause in his work, but he turned his battered face to
me. A couple of days before he had fallen afoul of the mate's brass
knuckles 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 though
his color hid the extent of his injuries.
The Nigger had been, perhaps, the worst misused man in the crew--and
this notwithstanding the fact he was by far the best sailor in the port
watch. But Fitzgibbon hated "damned niggers," especially did he hate
"these spar-colored half-breeds," as he was fond of calling this
fellow. I do believe he chose the Nigger for his watch so he might
pummel him to his heart's content. Beat him up he had, constantly, and
without 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 the
spy; Ah tells him Ah knows dey is one."
I waited patiently, for Nigger's temper would not bear pressing. He
reversed his stone, spat upon it, and resumed his monotonous whetting,
then, after looking around to make sure he could not be overheard, he
explained 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, he
added, "But Ah don't care if yoh know, because Ah knows yoh ain't no
snitch. Ah was hangin' 'round waitin' to meet Mistah Mate when he
ain't got them othah two debbils wif him. Ah was waitin' 'round to
meet 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; he
can't turn around in de foc'sle wifout me knowin' it. We'll be wahned
befoh it happens.' Dat's what de Old Man say to Mistah Mate. And Ah
knows he mus' be talkin' about de big fellow, and so Ah tells Boston
about 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; we
already knew that a spy was watching Newman. But indeed this fact
seemed not so threatening as it had a few hours before. Newman's
careless contempt of the spy had made me contemptuous, too. And,
indeed, what could a spy report against the big man that could injure
him? Newman was openly working for peace, counseling obedience. His
actions 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 like
peace?" he said. "Dis am a debbil-ship; Ah tells yoh dey can't be no
peace in dis ship nohow."
I gestured towards the forehatch. A dozen men sat upon it, quietly
smoking and gossiping. "The squally weather is past," I said. "Those
lads don't want trouble. A few hours ago they were all for fight--but
now they've settled down. And don't you try to start trouble! The big
fellow wants peace, the lady wants peace, we must help them to keep
peace. 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. "Ah
gone crazy long ago if it ain't foh de lady." He stopped his whetting
and tried the edge of the blade with his thumb; then, suddenly, he
reached out and clutched my wrist, and continued in a voice so charged
with pain and grief, that I was appalled.
"Ah'd do mos' anything foh de lady, but, Shreve, it ain't foh me, and
it ain't foh any of us forward to say what's goin' to happen in dis
ship. Ah ain't no sea-lawyer; man and boy Ah've gone to sea twenty
year, and Ah ain't nebber made no trouble in no ship, no suh. But, oh
mah Lawd, yoh knows what all's happened to me in dis ship! Dey won't
let me be a man. 'Yoh niggah, yoh black beast!' Dat's what dey calls
me, and dat's what dey makes me! Ah wants peace, yoh wants peace--but
does dey want peace? No, suh! Yoh say de ship peaceful now? Dis am a
debbil-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! Yoh
ebber sail out East? Yoh ebber see de quiet befoh a typhoon, so quiet
seems 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 mah
Lawd, when Ah does mah work right an' gets hazed foh it, when dat mate
makes 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 wrongs
were too bitter, his hurts too constant, to be glossed over or soothed
by any words I could think of. For I knew he still had weeks of brutal
mistreatment 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 talks
trouble. Ah nebber wants trouble, and Ah nebber stirs up no trouble."