THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 BY 
 
 NORMAN SPRINGER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 First Edition 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 409333 
 

THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was the writing guy who drew this story out 
 of Captain Shreve. He talked 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, with a letter from the owners 
 agent, and the announcement he intended making the 
 voyage with us. He had weak lungs, he said, and 
 was in search 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, the trader, of the vanish 
 ing race of island adventurers and he expected 
 to travel about the south seas investigating the 
 "king s" past, so he could write a book about the 
 old viking. He had heard that Captain Shreve had 
 known Waldon. Hence, he was honoring a cargo 
 carrier with his presence instead of taking his ease 
 upon a mail-boat. 
 
 Captain Shreve must tell him all he knew about 
 the "king." He was intensely interested in the 
 subject. Splendid material, you know. That roman 
 tic legend of Waldon s arrival in the islands too 
 
2 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 good to be true, and certainly too good not to put 
 into a book. Was Captain Shreve familiar with 
 the tale? How this fellow, Waldon, sailed into a 
 Samoan harbor in an open boat, his only companion 
 his beautiful young wife? Imagine this man and 
 woman coming from nowhere, sailing in from the 
 open sea in a small boat, never telling whence they 
 came! 
 
 He said this was the stuff to go into his book. 
 Romance, mystery! It was 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 knew about the fellow. If he could only get 
 at the beginning of the "king s" career in the islands. 
 Where did the fellow come from? Why should a 
 man bring his bride into an uncivilized and lawless 
 section- of the 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 steadily nobody could slide a word in 
 edgeways. Yet he said he wanted information. 
 We wondered. If the ability to deliver an unending 
 monologue, consisting chiefly of the ninth letter in 
 the alphabet, is any sign of lung power, that chap 
 didn t need any cod-liver oil or sea air. He could 
 have given up writing, and still have made a good 
 living ashore as a blacksmith s bellows! And as 
 for the local color and information well, he blinked 
 through his black rimmed glasses at our immaculate 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 3 
 
 decks, and said it was a pity they built ships for use 
 and not for looks nowadays, and went on talking 
 about himself, and what he could do with "King" 
 Waldon. 
 
 Briggs, the mate, confided to me in a soft aside 
 that the chap was making the voyage because he 
 knew he had an audience which couldn t escape 
 unless it jumped over the side. Captain Shreve 
 didn t confide; his face kept its accustomed expres 
 sion of serenity, and he made no attempt to stem 
 the author s flood of words. I was somewhat sur 
 prised by this meekness, for our Old Man is a great 
 hand to puncture a windbag; but then, I reflected, 
 the writing guy, being a passenger, was in the nature 
 of a guest on board, and, according to Captain 
 Shreve s code, a man to be humored. 
 
 We lay in the Stream, with a half dozen hours 
 to pass ere we proceeded to sea. It was Sunday, so 
 we were idle, the four of us lounging on the lower 
 bridge deck the Captain, Briggs, myself, and this 
 human phonograph. It was a pleasant day, and we 
 would have enjoyed the loaf in the warm afternoon 
 sunshine, had it not been for the unending drivel of 
 the passenger. I enjoyed it anyway, for even 
 though the ears be filled with a buzzing, the eyes 
 are free, and San Francisco Bay is an interesting 
 place. 
 
 " . . . and the critics all agree," the passenger 
 rambled on, "that my genius is proved by my amaz 
 ingly accurate portraits of character. I have the 
 
4 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 gift. That is why I shall do King Waldon so 
 well. I need but a mental image of the man to 
 make him live again. You must tell me what he 
 looked like, Captain. Is it true, as I have been told, 
 he was such a giant of a man, and possessed of such 
 enormous physical strength? And that his hair 
 retained its yellow luster even in old age ? And that 
 he had a great scar on his face, or head, about which 
 he never spoke? Ah, yes, you must tell me about 
 him, Captain." 
 
 Captain Shreve grunted at this the first sound 
 he had been able to squeeze into the talk for half 
 an hour. But the author did not pause; in fact 
 he hastened on, as though determined to forestall 
 any interruption. Talk! I don t know when that 
 fellow found any time to write. 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 stalk through 
 my story as truly alive as when he was in the flesh. 
 If he were alive I should not need your assistance, 
 Captain; one look at the man and I could paint him 
 in his true colors. I have that gift. Not men 
 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, this old box " 
 
 Captain Shreve sat up straight in his chair. I 
 thought he was rasped by the fellow s slur, for he 
 is very proud of his ship. But it was something 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 5 
 
 else that rubbed the expression of patient resigna 
 tion from his face; he was staring over the star 
 board rail with an expression of lively interest. I 
 followed his gaze with mine, but saw only a ferry 
 boat in the distance, and, close by, a big red-stack 
 tug towing a dilapidated coal hulk. 
 
 The Captain s eyes were upon this tow. He 
 tugged excitedly at his beard. "Well, by George, 
 what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. He turned to 
 the mate, his bright eyes snapping. "Look, Briggs! 
 Do you know her? By George, do you recognize 
 her?" 
 
 The writing guy was disgusted by this interrup 
 tion, just when he was going to prove his genius. 
 Briggs shifted his quid, spat, and inspected the 
 passing hulk with extreme deliberation. I looked 
 at her too, wondering what there was about an old 
 coal-carrier that could pierce Captain Shreve s ac 
 customed 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 a couple 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 the worn- 
 out old hull was left. An eyesore, truly. Yet, any 
 seaman could see with half an eye she had once 
 been a fine ship. The clipper lines were there. 
 
 Suddenly Briggs sat up in his chair, and exclaimed, 
 
6 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Well, blast my eyes, so it is!" He nodded to the 
 Captain, and then returned his regard to the hulk, 
 his nostrils working with interest. "So it is ! So 
 it is I Well, blast my " 
 
 "Is what?" I demanded. "What do you two 
 see in that old hull that is so extraordinary?" 
 
 Just then the writing guy decided we had monopo 
 lized the conversation long enough. So he seized 
 the opportunity to exercise for our benefit the rare 
 gift he was endowed with. He glanced patroniz 
 ingly at the coal hulk, wrinkled his nose in disappro 
 bation of her appearance, and delivered himself in 
 an oracular voice. 
 
 "What a horrible looking old tub ! Not a diffi 
 cult task to invest hei with her true personality. 
 An old workhorse eh ? A broken down old plug, 
 built for heavy labor, and now rounding out an 
 uninspiring existence by performing the most menial 
 of tasks. An apt description what?" 
 
 I noticed a faint smile crack the straight line of 
 Captain Shreve s mouth. But it was Briggs who 
 was unable to contain himself. He turned full upon 
 the poor scribe, and plainly voiced his withering 
 scorn. 
 
 "Why, blast my eyes, young feller, if you weren t 
 as blind as a bat you d know you were talking rot ! 
 A workhorse ! you say. A broken down old plug! 
 Blast me, man, look at the lines of her!" 
 
 The passenger flushed, and stared uncompre- 
 hendingly at the poor old hulk. The tug had gone, 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 7 
 
 and she was lying anchored, now, a few hundred 
 yards off our starboard bow. A sorry sight. The 
 author could see nothing but her ugliness. 
 
 "Why, she is just a dirty old scow " he com 
 menced. 
 
 "Blast me, can t you even guess what she once 
 was?" went on Briggs, relentlessly. "Well, young 
 feller, that dirty old scow as you call her is the 
 Golden Bough!" 
 
 The passenger only blinked. The name meant 
 nothing to him. But it did to me. 
 
 "The Golden Bough!" I echoed. "Surely you 
 don t mean the Golden Bough?" 
 
 "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 smashed a 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 for such things. And really, your 
 description strikes home to me. We are all work- 
 hors-s, are we not, we of the sea? And time breaks 
 down us all, man and ship." The Old Man was 
 staring at the hulk, and his voice was sorrowful. 
 "Aye, but time has used her cruelly! What a pity 
 she was so bonny!" 
 
8 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 The writing guy perked up at this. "Well, you 
 know, I see her through a layman s eyes," he ex 
 plained. "And she does look so old, and dirty, and 
 commonplace " 
 
 Briggs snorted, and the Captain hastened to con 
 tinue, cutting off the mate s hard words. "Oh, yes, 
 she looks old and dirty no mistake. But time 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 he remembered very well the Golden 
 Bough in the days of her glory, the days when she 
 was no workhorse, but a double-planked racehorse 
 of the seas, as anyone but a lubber could see she 
 had once been, just by looking at her. Yes, blast his 
 eyes, he remembered her. He remembered one 
 time running the Easting down in the Josiah T. 
 Flynn, a smart ship, with a reputation, and they 
 were cracking on as they would never dare crack on 
 in these degenerate days, when, blast his eyes, the 
 Golden Bough came up on them, and passed, and 
 ran away from the poor old 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 he wanted a tow. "And then we 
 caught hell," commented Mr. Briggs. Aye, he 
 should say he did remember the Golden Bough. 
 But he had never sailed in her. 
 
 "And she looks commonplace enough," continued 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 9 
 
 Captain Shreve, "providing you know nothing of 
 her history. But she does not look commonplace to 
 Briggs or me. I suppose we regard her through the 
 mist of memory we see the tall, beautiful ship 
 that was. We know the record of that ship. Aye, 
 lad, and if those sorry-looking timbers yonder could 
 talk, you would not have to make the voyage with 
 us in order to get a taste of the salt. You d get 
 real local color there you d hear of many a wild 
 ocean race, of smashed records, or shanghaied crews 
 and mutinies. Yes, and you d get, perhaps, some of 
 that particular information you say you are after. 
 Those old, broken bulwarks 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 of thing." 
 
 "Not always," retorted Captain Shreve. "There 
 were other ways of going to Davy Jones in the old 
 clipper days and in these days, also, for that mat 
 ter. Knives, for instance, or bullets, or a pair of 
 furious hands if you care for violent tragedy. But 
 I did not mean the physical dangers of life, particu 
 larly; I meant, rather, that Fate tangles lives on 
 board ship as queerly as in cities ashore. I meant 
 that the Golden Bough, in her day, left her mark 
 upon a good many lives. She broke men, and made 
 them. And once, I know, she had to do with a 
 woman s life, and a woman s love. There was a 
 wedding performed upon that ship upon the high 
 
10 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 seas, and a dead man sprawled on the deck at the 
 feet of the nuptial pair, and the bride was the dead 
 man s widow!" 
 
 "Oh, come now " said the writing guy. It was 
 plain he thought the skipper was stringing him. But 
 I knew how difficult it was to get our Old Man to 
 spin a yarn, and I was determined he should not 
 be shunted off on a new tack. I interrupted the 
 author, hurriedly. "Did you ever make a voyage 
 in the Golden Bough, Captain?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," replied the Captain. "I was a witness to 
 that wedding; and I played my small part in bring 
 ing it about. Yes, that old wreck yonder has had 
 a good deal to do with my own life. I received my 
 first boost upward in the Golden Bough. Shipped 
 in the foc sle, and ended the voyage in the cabin. 
 Stepped into dead man s shoes. And more impor 
 tant 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 Captain Shreve. "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 I put my oar in again. 
 
 "Let us have the yarn, Captain," I begged. 
 
 Captain Shreve squinted at the sun, and then 
 favored the passenger with one of his rare smiles. 
 "Why, yes," he said. "We have an idle afternoon 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 11 
 
 ahead of us, and I ll gladly spin the yarn. You say, 
 sir, you are interested in ships, and sailors, and, par 
 ticularly, in King Waldon s history. Well, per 
 haps you may find some material of use in this tale 
 of mine ; though I fear my lack of skill in recounting 
 it may offend your trained mind. 
 
 "Yet it is simply life and living this yarn. Hu 
 man beings set down upon those decks to work out 
 their separate destinies as Fate and character 
 directed. Aye, and their characters, and the mo 
 tives that inspired their acts, were diverse enough, 
 heaven knows. 
 
 "There was Swope, Black Yankee Swope, who 
 captained that hell-ship, a man with a twisted heart, 
 a man who delighted in evil, and worked it for its 
 own sake. There was Holy Joe, the shanghaied 
 parson, whose weak flesh scorned the torture, be 
 cause of the strong, pure faith in the man s soul. 
 There were Blackie and Boston, their rat-hearts 
 steeled to courage by lust of gold, their rascally, 
 seductive tongues welding into a dangerous unit the 
 mob of desperate, broken stiffs who inhabited the 
 foc sle. There were Lynch and Fitzgibbon, the 
 buckos, living up to their grim code ; and the Knit 
 ting Swede, that prince of crimps, who put most of 
 us into the ship. There was myself, with my child 
 ish vanity, and petty ambitions. There was the lady, 
 the beautiful, despairing lady aft, wife of the infam 
 ous brute who ruled us. There was Cockney, the 
 gutless swab, whose lying words nearly had New- 
 
12 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 man s life. And last, and chiefly, there was the man 
 with the scar, he who called himself Newman/ 
 man of mystery, who came like the fabled knight, 
 killed the beast who held the princess captive, and 
 led her out of bondage. And I helped him; and 
 saw the shanghaied parson marry them, there on 
 the bloody deck. 
 
 "Stuff for a yarn eh? But just life, and living. 
 By George, it was mighty strenuous living, too ! And 
 yet, well as I know this tale I lived 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 only live their stories you see the 
 yarn from the beginning to the end, we see but those 
 chapters in which Fate makes us characters. The 
 beginning, the end, the plot all are beyond our ken. 
 If indeed there is a beginning, or end, or plot to a 
 story one lives." 
 
 "Every story must have a beginning, a middle, 
 and an end," began the writing guy, sonorously. 
 "Now I " 
 
 Just then I leaned over and placed my number 
 nine brogan firmly upon that writing guy s kid-clad 
 foot, and held him in speechless agony for a mo 
 ment, 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 Fran 
 cisco, when I walked out of the Shipping Commis 
 sioner s office with my first A.B. s discharge in my 
 hand, and a twelve months pay-day jingling in my 
 pocket. For I must explain something of my state 
 of mind on that morning, so you will understand 
 how I got into Yankee Swope s blood-ship. 
 
 It was the heyday of the crimps, and I walked 
 through the very heart of crimpdom, along the old 
 East street. It is not a very prepossessing thorough 
 fare even to-day, when it masquerades as the Embar- 
 cadero, a sinner reformed. In those days, when it 
 was just East street, it consisted of solid blocks of 
 ramshackle frame buildings, that housed all the vari 
 eties of sharks and harpies who live off Jack ashore; 
 it was an ugly, dirty, fascinating way, a street with 
 a garish, besotted face. But on this morning it 
 seemed the most wonderful avenue in the world to 
 me. I saw East street through the colorful eyes of 
 youth the eyes of Romance. 
 
 I stepped along with my chest out and my chin 
 up-tilted. A few paces behind me a beachcomber 
 wobbled along with my sea-bag on his shoulder 
 
 13 
 
14 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 for what A.B. would demean himself with such labor 
 on pay-day, when moochers abounded at his heel! 
 I was looking for a boarding-house. 
 
 But it was not the Sailors Home. That respec 
 table institution might do very well for boys, and 
 callow ordinary seamen, but it certainly would not 
 do for a newly made A.B. Nor was I looking for 
 Mother Harrison s place, as I told Mother s run 
 ner, who stuck at my elbow for a time. Mother 
 Harrison s was known as the quietest, most orderly 
 house on the street; it might do for those quiet and 
 orderly old shellbacks whose blood had been chilled 
 by age; but it would never do for a young A.B., a 
 real man, who was wishful for all the mad living 
 the beach afforded. No; I was looking for the 
 Knitting Swede s. 
 
 Knitting Swede Olson! Remember him, Briggs? 
 A fine hole for a young fool to seek! But I 
 was a man, remember a MAN and that precious 
 discharge proved it. I was nineteen years old, and 
 manhood bears a very serious aspect at nineteen. 
 No wonder I was holding my head in the air. The 
 fellows in my watch would listen to my opinions 
 with respect, now I was an able seaman. No longer 
 would I scrub the foc sle floor while the lazy beg 
 gars slept. No longer would I peggy week in and 
 week out. I was A.B. at last; a full-fledged man! 
 Of course, I must straightway prove my manhood; 
 so I was bound for the Knitting Swede s. 
 
 Everybody knew the Knitting Swede in those days ; 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 15 
 
 every man Jack who ever joined a ship. They told 
 of him in New York, and London, and Callao, and 
 Singapore, and in every foc sle afloat. The king of 
 crimps! He sat in his barroom, in East street, 
 placidly knitting socks with four steel needles, and 
 as placidly ignoring every law of God and man. 
 He ruled the Frisco waterfront, did the Knitting 
 Swede, and made his power felt to the very ends of 
 the seas. 
 
 Stories about him were without number. It was 
 the Knitting Swede who shanghaied the corpse on 
 board the Tarn o y Shanter. It was the Knitting 
 Swede who drugged the skipper of the Sequoia, and 
 shipped him in his own foc sle. It was the Knitting 
 Swede who sent the crowd of cowboys to sea in the 
 Enterprise. It was the Knitting Swede who was 
 the infamous hero of quite half the dog-watch yarns. 
 It was the Knitting 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 scene which 
 would be enacted on board my next ship. Some fel 
 low would ask me 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 answer in 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 would be respect in their eyes. For only 
 
16 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 very hard cases ever stopped at the Knitting Swede s. 
 
 Well, I found the Swede s place easily enough. 
 And he was there in person to welcome me. I dis 
 covered his appearance to be just what the stories 
 described a tall, great paunched man, who bulked 
 gigantic as he perched on a high stool at the end of 
 the bar, a half-knitted gray sock in his hands, and 
 an air about him of cow-like contentment. He pos 
 sessed a mop of straw-colored hair, and a pair of 
 little, mild, blue eyes 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, and a 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 for safekeeping, and I set up the drinks 
 for the house. 
 
 What? Give him my money for safekeeping? 
 Of course. There was a code of honor even in 
 crimpdom, you know. I came to the Swede s house 
 of my own choosing; no runner of his snared me 
 out of a ship. Therefore I would be permitted to 
 spend the last dollar of my pay-day, chiefly over his 
 bar, of course, and when the money was gone, he 
 would ship me in a ship of my own choosing. Un 
 less, of course, men were exceptionally scarce, and 
 blood money exceptionally high. Crimpdom honor 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 17 
 
 wouldn t stand much temptation. But I was con 
 fident of my ability to look after myself. I was a 
 man of nineteen, you know. 
 
 So, at the Knitting Swede s I was lodged. I 
 spent most of my first day there in examining and 
 getting acquainted with my fellow lodgers. Aye, 
 they were a crowd, quite in keeping with the repute 
 of the house ; hard living, hard swearing, hard 
 fighting A.B. s, for the most part; the unruly toughs 
 of the five oceans. I swaggered amongst them and 
 thought myself a very devil of a fellow. I bought 
 them drinks at the Swede s bar, and listened with 
 immense satisfaction to their loud comments on my 
 generosity. It was, "He s a fine lad, and no mis 
 take !" and, "He s a real proper bloke, for certain!" 
 And I ordered up the rounds, and swung my shoul 
 ders, and felt like a "real proper bloke" indeed. 
 
 Well, I saw one chap in the house who really 
 attracted me. I should liked to have chummed with 
 him, and I went out of my way to be friendly 
 towards him. He was a regular giant of a man, 
 with yellow hair and frosty eyes, and a very white 
 face. In fact he looked as if he might have recently 
 been sick, though his huge, muscular frame showed 
 no effects 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 these things, 
 not his face or size which drew me to him; it was 
 his bearing. 
 
18 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 All of the chaps in Swede Olson s house were hard 
 cases. They boasted of their hardness. But their 
 hardness was the typical tough s hardness, nine 
 parts bravado, a savagery not difficult to subdue 
 with an oak belaying pin in the fist of a bucko mate. 
 But the hardness of this big, scar-faced man was of 
 a different sort. You sensed, immediately you 
 looked at him, that he possessed a steely armor of 
 indifference that penetrated to his very heart. He 
 was a real hard case, a proper nut, a fellow who 
 simply did not care what happened. It was noth 
 ing he said or did, but his demeanor declared plainly 
 he was utterly reckless of events or consequences. 
 It was amusing to observe how circumspectly the 
 bullies of the house walked while in his neighbor 
 hood. 
 
 But I found him to be a man of silent and lone 
 some habit, and temperate. He discouraged my 
 friendly advance with a cold indifference, and my 
 idea of chumming with him during my pay-day 
 "bust" soon went glimmering. Yet I admired him 
 mightily from the moment I first clapped eyes upon 
 him, and endeavored to imitate his carriage of utter 
 recklessness in my own strutting. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE talk in the Swede s house was all of 
 drink and women and ships. I was too young 
 and clean to find much enjoyment in too much 
 of the first two; much liquor made me sick, and I 
 did not find the painted Jezebels of sailor-town 
 attractive. But ships were my life, and I lent a 
 ready ear to the gossip about them. To tell the 
 truth, I didn t enjoy the Knitting Swede s place very 
 much. I did so want to be a hard case, and I guess 
 I was a pretty hard case, but I didn t like the other 
 hard cases. Youth likes companionship, but I didn t 
 want to chum with that gang, willing though most 
 of them were that I permit them to help me spend 
 my money. I hadn t been ashore twenty-four hours 
 before I found myself wishing for a clean breeze 
 and blue water. 
 
 Shipping was brisk in the port, and I discovered 
 I would have no trouble in picking my ship when my 
 money was gone. The Enterprise was loading for 
 Boston; the Glory of the Seas would sail within the 
 fortnight for the United Kingdom; there were a 
 half-dozen other smart ships wishing to be manned 
 by smart lads. I had nothing to worry about. I 
 could blow my pay-day as quickly as I liked; there 
 was no danger of my being stranded "on the beach." 
 
 19 
 
20 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 So I spent my money, as violently as possible. I 
 made a noise in the Swede 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 a woman in the Swede s house, a 
 slim wisp of a little Jewess, with the sweet face of 
 a Madonna and the eyes of a wanton. Well she 
 smiled on me. She had good * ason to; was I not 
 making my gold pieces dance a merry 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 his property. We had it out with bare knuckles 
 in the Swede s big back room, with all the little 
 tables pushed against the wall to make fighting 
 space, and the toughest crowd in San Francisco 
 standing by to see fair play. I was the younger, and 
 as hard as nails, he was soft and rotten with evil 
 living, so I thrashed him soundly enough in five 
 rounds. 
 
 After he had taken the count, I turned away and 
 commenced to pull my shirt on over my head. I 
 heard a sharp curse, a yell of pain, and the clatter 
 of steel upon the floor. When my head emerged, I 
 beheld my late antagonist slinking away before the 
 threatening figure of the man with the scar. The 
 bully s right arm dangled by his side, limp and 
 broken, and a sheath-knife was lying on the floor, 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 21 
 
 at the big man s feet. The sight gave me a rather 
 sick feeling at the pit of the stomach, for I realized 
 I had narrowly escaped being knifed. 
 
 The scar-faced man would not listen to my thanks. 
 He bestowed upon me a cool, bracing glance, and 
 remarked, u You must never take your eyes off one 
 of that breed!" Then he resumed his seat at a 
 table in the far cornr of the room, and quite plainly 
 dismissed the incident from his mind. 
 
 Indeed, the house as speedily dismissed the inci 
 dent from its collective mind. A fist fight or a 
 knifing was but a momentary diversion in the Swede s 
 place. Five minutes after he left the room, the 
 whipped bully left the establishment, his one good 
 hand carrying his duffle. The Knitting Swede would 
 have no whipped bouncer in his employ. 
 
 That was a purple night for me. I was the victor, 
 and the fruits of the victory were very sweet. The 
 Jewess murmured adoring flatteries in my ear. The 
 others that crowd of rough, tough men clapped 
 me respectfully upon the back, felt gingerly of my 
 biceps, and swore loudly and luridly I was the best 
 man in the port. I agreed with them and set up 
 the drinks, again and again. Oh, I was a great 
 man that night ! The house caroused at my expense 
 till late. 
 
 Only my silent friend in the corner declined to 
 take part in the merry-making. The man with the 
 scar sat alone, drinking nothing, and regarding with 
 cool and visible contempt the dizzy gyrations of the 
 
22 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 roughs who were swilling away the money I had 
 worked for. But his open contempt of them was 
 not resented, even at the height of the orgy. They 
 were hard cases, rough, tough fighting men, but 
 they gave the big fellow plenty of sea-room. No 
 ruffling or swaggering in his direction. No gibes or 
 practical jokes. The bludgeon-like wit of the house 
 very carefully passed him by. For he was so plainly 
 a desperate man. 
 
 u He s a bad one," whispered the Jewess to me, 
 lifting an eye towards the lonely table. "He has 
 the house bluffed. Bet you the Swede doesn t try 
 any of his tricks with him. He s a real bad one. 
 Wonder who he is?" 
 
 I openly admired the man. I d have given my 
 soul almost to own his manner. The careless yet 
 grand air of the man, the something about him that 
 lifted him above the rest of us aye, he was the real 
 hero, he was the 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 so pale and that scar I guess 
 he is just out of the hospital. Been sick, or hurt, 
 most likely." 
 
 The woman gave me a pitying look that set my 
 teeth on edge. She was continually marveling over 
 my innocence, and I didn t relish being innocent. 
 "Just out of hospital!" she mocked. "You cer 
 tainly haven t been around places like this very 
 much or you would know." 
 
 "Know what?" I demanded. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 23 
 
 She shook her head, and looked serious. "No, I ll 
 not preach, not even to you. And I like him 
 because he saved you." 
 
 Next morning the Swede interrupted his knitting 
 long enough to toss my last ten dollars across the 
 bar. "Ay tank you ship now?" says he. 
 
 The huskies who were gathered about the room 
 immediately chorused their disapproval. "Oh, give 
 the poor beggar a chance!" they sang out. "Let 
 him 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, remem 
 ber this, Swede, in a ship of my own choosing." 
 
 He grinned widely, and showed his whole mouth 
 ful of yellow teeth. His baby stare rested appre 
 ciatively upon me, as though I had just cracked an 
 excellent joke. "Oh, }a y you pick him yourself," 
 he chortled. "Mineself get you good ship, easy 
 ship. No bucko, no hardtack, good pay, soft time, 
 by Yimminy!" 
 
 His mirthful humor abruptly vanished. He 
 leaned towards me, and the lids of his little round 
 eyes slowly lifted. It was like the lifting of cur 
 tains. For an instant I looked into the unplumbed 
 abyss of the man s soul, and I felt the full impact 
 of his ruthless, powerful mind. It was an astonish 
 ing revelation of character, that glance. I think 
 the Swede designed it so, for he was about to make 
 me a momentous offer. 
 
24 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Ay ship you by easy ship, shore-going ship. No 
 vatch, no heavy veather, good times, ja. You 
 thump mine roonar, you take his voomans, so you 
 take his yob. Ja? You ship by the Knitting 
 Swede? 1 
 
 The eyelids drooped, and his gaze was again one 
 of infantile innocence. His fat smooth jowls quiv 
 ered, as he waited with an expectant smile for my 
 answer. 
 
 I ll admit I was completely bowled over for a 
 moment. A hush had fallen upon the room. I 
 heard a voice behind me exclaim softly and bitterly, 
 "Gaw blimme, Vs got it!" I knew the voice be 
 longed to a big 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 chief lieutenancy. I was 
 a hard case, a proper nut, to have that honor offered 
 me. For it was an honor in sailordom. I thought 
 of the foc sles to come, and my shipmates pointing 
 me out most respectfully as the fighting bloke who 
 had been offered a chief runner s berth by the Knit 
 ting Swede. 
 
 For I did not doubt there would be other foc sles, 
 and soon. Life ashore at the Knitting Swede s was 
 not for me. Young fool, I was, with all the conceit 
 of my years and inches. Yet I realized clearly 
 enough I would only be happy with the feel of a deck 
 beneath my feet, and the breath of open water in my 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 25 
 
 nostrils. I was of the sea, and for the sea. And 
 if anything were needed to make my decision more 
 certain, there was the little Jewess. She leaned 
 close, and there was more than a 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 a fighting man s berth! "I 
 want you to," she commanded. I saw more clearly 
 just what the Swede s offer meant: to spend my days 
 in evil living, my drugged will twisted about the 
 slim, dishonest fingers of the wanton; to spend my 
 nights carrying out whatever black rascality the 
 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 discon 
 cert him; I think his insight had prepared him for 
 it. But the tension in the room released with a loud 
 gasp of astonishment. It was unbelievable to those 
 bullies that such an offer could be turned down. A 
 sailorman refusing unlimited opportunities for get 
 ting drunk! "Gaw strike me blind, e arn t got the 
 guts for hit!" a voice cried at my elbow, and I 
 found the Cockney openly sneering into my face. 
 
 I saw through his motive immediately. Cockney 
 wanted the job, and he wasn t going to allow the 
 Swede to overlook his peculiar qualifications a sec 
 ond time. Therefore, he would risk battle with me. 
 
 I was nothing loath. I might turn down the job, 
 
26 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 but I would not turn down a challenge. I stepped 
 back, and my coat was already on the floor by the 
 time the Swede had a chance to form his words. 
 And his words showed him also cognizant of the 
 Cockney s ruse. 
 
 Vast there, Cocky! Ay give you the yob. No 
 need to fight, and get smashed sick. To-night I got 
 vork to put the crew by the- Golden Bough!" 
 
 The Cockney s hostility melted into a satisfied 
 smirk. He called upon his Maker with many blas 
 phemies while he assured the Swede he was the very 
 "proper blushin bloke" for the berth. The crowd 
 straightway lost all interest in the runnership; they 
 had another sensation to occupy them. At the 
 Swede s words, a low growl ran around the room, 
 a growl which swelled into a chorus of impreca 
 tions. 
 
 The Swede was going to ship the crew for the 
 Golden Bough that night 1 That meant he needed 
 sailors. And every man who was in debt to the 
 Swede, or in any way under his thumb (and I sus 
 pect every man Jack of them was under his thumb 
 in some fashion or other), quaked in his boots, and 
 thought, "Will the Swede choose me?" For they 
 knew ships, those men, and they knew the Golden 
 Bough. Some of them had sailed in her. 
 
 The Swede grinned jocosely at me. "How you 
 like to ship by the Golden Bough? There ban easy 
 ship, Jaf Plenty grub, easy vork, good mates " 
 
 "Yah-h-h!" One swelling, jeering shout from 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 27 
 
 the whole crowd submerged the Swede s joking ref 
 erence. 
 
 "Plenty to eat!" yelled one. "Aye, plenty o 
 belaying-pin soup, an knuckle-duster hash I" 
 
 "Easy work!" sang out another. "In your watch 
 below, which never happens!" 
 
 "Proper gents, the mates are," spoke up a third. 
 "They eats a sailorman every mornin for break 
 fast!" 
 
 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 crew was to be crimped, of 
 course, in the Swede knew what kennels of the town. 
 But a few tried sailormen must go to leaven that 
 sodden, sea-ignorant lump. It was like condemning 
 men to penal servitude. No wonder they swore. 
 And swear they did, with mouth-filling, curdling 
 oaths, as though in vain hope their flaming words 
 would quite consume that evilly known vessel. 
 
 In the midst of that bedlam I stood thinking 
 strange thoughts. It is hardly credible, but I was 
 considering if I should tell the Swede I would 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-watch yarns, the Golden Bough was 
 the heroine of the other half. I knew of the ship, 
 
28 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the most notorious blood-ship afloat, and the queen 
 of all the 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 he could polish off a watch single-handed, 
 and lived up to his boast. I knew of the famous, 
 blood-specked passages the ship had made; of the 
 cruel, bruising life the foremast hands led in her. 
 And I stood before the Swede s bar and considered 
 shipping. Oh, Youth! 
 
 For my thoughts were fathered by the vaulting 
 conceit of my nineteen years. Consider ... a few 
 days before I had for the first time assumed a man s 
 estate in sailordom. Already I was a marked man. 
 Had I not stopped at the Knitting Swede s, and 
 ruffled on equality with the hard cases? Had I not 
 whipped the bully of the beach? Had I not been 
 offered a fighting man s billet by the Swede, himself? 
 Was not that glory? 
 
 Then how much greater the glory if I spoke up 
 with a devil-may-care lilt in my voice, and shipped 
 in the hottest packet afloat ! Glory ! why, I would 
 be the unquestioned cock of any foc sle I afterward 
 happened into. You know, in those days the ambi 
 tious young lads regularly shipped in the hot clip 
 pers; it was a postgraduate course in seamanship, 
 and accomplishment of such a voyage gave one a 
 standing with his fellows. I had intended going in 
 one in the Enterprise, or the Glory of the Seas, 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 29 
 
 both loading in port. But the Golden Bough! No 
 man shipped in her, sober, and unafraid. If I 
 shipped, I should be famous the world around as 
 the fellow who feared neither God, nor Devil, nor 
 Yankee Swope and his bucko mates ! 
 
 So I stood there, half wishful, half afraid, deaf 
 to all save my own swirling thoughts. And there 
 happened that which gave me my decision. 
 
 It was the man with the scar. He had been 
 lounging against the bar, an uninterested spectator 
 of the bestowing of the runnership. Now, my eyes 
 fell upon him, and I saw to my surprise that he 
 was shaken out of his careless humor. He was 
 standing tensely on the balls of his feet, and his 
 hands were gripping the bar rail so fiercely his 
 fingers seemed white and bloodless. It was apparent 
 some stern emotion wrestled him; the profile I saw 
 was set like chiseled marble. There was something 
 indescribably menacing in his poise. The sight of 
 him jolted my ears open to the noises of the room. 
 
 The crowd was still talking about the Golden 
 Bough. And the talk had progressed, as talk of 
 the Golden Bough always progressed, from skipper 
 and mates, to the lady. They spoke of the ship s 
 mystery, of the Captain s lady. She was a char 
 acter to pique a sailorman s interest, the Lady of the 
 Golden Bough. Her fame was as wide, and much 
 sweeter, than the vessel s. With all their toughs 
 frankness, the crowd were discussing the lady s 
 puzzling relations with Swope. 
 
30 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Uncommon queer, I calls it," said one chap, 
 who had sailed in the ship. "They call em man an 
 wife, but she lives to port, an he to starboard. 
 Separate cabins, dash me! I had it from the cabin 
 boy. They even eats separate. . . . He s nasty to 
 her I ve heard the devil snarl 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 my blanked head, an Lynch a-hazin me to 
 work and every morning she trips into the foc sle 
 with her bright cheer an her linaments. A blanked, 
 blessed angel, she is I" 
 
 "He beats her," supplemented another man. "I 
 got it from a mate what chummed with the bloke as 
 was a Sails on her one voyage. He said, that sail- 
 maker did, as how Swope got drunk, and beat her." 
 
 The big Cockney, who had been visibly possessed 
 by a pompous self-importance since his elevation 
 to the dignity of runner, saw fit to 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 to knock 
 a Judy abaht, arn t yer? Hi arve hit straight e 
 picked er hoff the streets " 
 
 The man with the scar wheeled on his heel, 
 reached out, and grasped the Cockney by his two 
 wrists. I exclaimed aloud when I saw the man s 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 31 
 
 full face. There was death in it. He spoke to 
 Cockney in a voice of cold fury. "You lie 1" he cried. 
 "Say you lie!" 
 
 Cockney was a big man, and husky. He cursed, 
 and struggled. But he was 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 gripped Cockney s wrists in the same terrible 
 clutch. They squeezed, as though to crush the very 
 bones. Cockney squirmed, and whimpered, then he 
 broke down, and screamed in agony. 
 
 u 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 contemptu 
 ously away ; and Cockney lost no time in putting the 
 distance of the room between them. The big man 
 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 resolu 
 tion. What another dared, I would dare. I 
 thumped the bar with my fist and sang out valor- 
 ousiy, "I ship in her too, Swede!" 
 
 The Swede s needles stopped flashing in and out 
 of the gray yarn. He regarded us, one after the 
 
32 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 other, with his baby stare. Then he said to the 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 his wheezy laughter. "By Yim- 
 miny, Ay tank da Golden Bough haf vun lively 
 voyage!" he exclaimed. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 WE signed articles in the Swede s house, 
 almost within the hour. A little man with 
 a pimply, bulbous nose appeared in the 
 house; he carried in his person the authority of 
 Shipping Commissioner and in his hand the articles 
 of the Golden Bough. After the careless fashion 
 of the day and port we signed on without further 
 ado for a voyage to Hong Kong and beyond sit 
 ting at a table in the back room, and cementing the 
 contract with a drink around. 
 
 The Shipping Commissioner made the usual pre 
 tense of reading the articles. 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 a habit he had when 
 thinking. He smiled. 
 
 u My name is Newman," he made answer. "It is 
 a good name." 
 
 He took the pen from the Shipping Commis 
 sioner s hand and wrote the name in the proper 
 place upon the articles. "A. Newman," that is how 
 he wrote it. Not the first time he had clapped eyes 
 upon ship s articles, one could see with half an eye. 
 I wrote my own "John Shreve" below his name, 
 
 33 
 
34 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 with an outward flourish, but with a sinking sensa 
 tion inwardly. 
 
 As soon as the ceremony was completed, A. New 
 man got to his feet, refused my pressing invitation 
 to visit the bar, and went upstairs to his room. 
 Now, this seemed very peculiar to my sailor s way 
 of thinking; it seemed more peculiar than his choice 
 of a name. Here we were, shipmates, together 
 committed to a high adventure, yet the man would 
 not tarry by my side long enough to up-end a 
 schooner to a fair passage. I was to have other sur 
 prises before the day was out the mean-faced 
 beggar, and the way in which the Knitting Swede 
 put us on board the Golden Bough. Surprising 
 incidents. But this refusal of my new shipmate to 
 drink with me was most surprising. Think of a 
 sailor, a hard case, too, moping alone in his room 
 on the day he shipped, when downstairs he could 
 wassail away the day. I was surprised and resent 
 ful. It is hard for a nineteen-year-old man to stand 
 alone, and I felt that Newman, my shipmate, should 
 give me the moral support of his companionship. 
 
 I strutted away the day in lonely glory. I had 
 not the courage to violate the hoary traditions of the 
 foc sle and join my ship sober, so I imbibed as 
 steadily as my youthful stomach permitted. To 
 wards evening 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 35 
 
 necessity to get away from the Swede s barroom. I 
 wanted to breathe a bit of fresh air, I wanted to 
 shut out from my mind the sights and sounds and 
 smells of the groggery, the reek and the smut and 
 the evil faces. Above all, I wished to escape the 
 importunities of the little Jewess. She had gotten 
 upon my nerves. Oh, I was her fancy boy to-day, 
 you bet! I was spending my advance money, 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 belonged to me. 
 And in truth it did. Aye, I was the chesty lad, and 
 my step was high and proud, during that stroll. For 
 men hailed me, and pointed me out. I was the rough, 
 tough king of the beach that hour; I was the lad 
 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 upon a fellow who was spit 
 ting blood into the gutter. He was the sorriest- 
 looking wretch I had ever seen, the gaunt ruin of a 
 man. He drew his filthy rags about him, and 
 shivered, and prefaced his whine for 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 too unwholesome looking, and his 
 face was mean and sly. His voice was as remark 
 able as anything about him; instead of speaking 
 
36 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 words, he whined them, through his nose it sounded 
 like, and though his tone seemed pitched low, his 
 whine cut through the East street uproar like a 
 sharp knife through butter. 
 
 Well, he was a pitiful wreck. On the rocks for 
 good, already breaking up and going to pieces. 
 Without thinking much about it, I emptied my pock 
 ets of their change. He pounced upon that hand 
 ful of silver with the avidity of a miser, and slob 
 bered nasal thanks at me. I was the kindest-hearted 
 lad he had met in many a day, he said. 
 
 We would have gone our different ways promptly 
 but for a flurry of wind. I suspect that, with the 
 money in his hand, he was as eager to see the last of 
 me as I was to see the last of him. But I felt 
 ashamed of my distaste of him; it seemed heartless. 
 And when the cold wind came swooping across from 
 the docks, setting him shivering and coughing, I 
 thought of the spare pea-coat I had in my bag. It 
 was serviceable 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 him into the barroom, though 
 he brazenly hinted he would like to stop in there; 
 but I feared the gibes of the boisterous gang. This 
 bum of mine was 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 
 a chum. Besides it was clothes not whisky I intended 
 giving him. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 37 
 
 I took him upstairs by the side entrance, the en 
 trance to the lodging-house section of the Knitting 
 Swede s establishment. The house was a veritable 
 rookery above the first floor. I lodged on the third 
 floor, in a room overlooking the street, a shabby, 
 dirty little cubicle, but one of the choice rooms at 
 the Swede s disposal for was I not spending money 
 in his house? 
 
 My companion s complaining whine filled the halls 
 as we ascended the stairs. He was damning the 
 times and the hard hearts of men. As we walked 
 along the hall towards my room, the door of the 
 room next to mine opened and the big man, who 
 signed himself Newman, looked out at us. I had 
 not known before that he occupied this room, he 
 was so silent and secretive in his comings and goings. 
 
 I hailed Newman heartily, but he gave me no 
 response, not even a direct glance. He was regard 
 ing the derelict; aye, and there was something in his 
 face as he looked at the man that sent a thrill 
 through me. There was 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 stumbled against the banisters, 
 and clung to them for support while his knees sagged 
 under him. He d have run, undoubtedly, if he had 
 had the strength. 
 
 "Hello, Beasley," said Newman, in a very quiet 
 voice. He came out of his room, and approached 
 
38 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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 to scream, but nothing came out ex 
 cept a gurgle; and he lifted his arm as if to ward 
 off an expected blow. 
 
 But Newman made no move to strike him. He 
 looked down at him, studying him, with his stern 
 mouth cracked into a little smile (but, God s truth, 
 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. "I want to talk to you = 
 about " 
 
 The other got his tongue to working in a half- 
 coherent fashion, though the disjointed words he 
 forced out of his mouth were just husky whispers. 
 "Oh, my God you! Not me oh, my God, not 
 me! him he made me it was " 
 
 No more sense than that to his agonized mum 
 bling. And he got no more than that out of him 
 when he choked, and an ugly splotch of crimson ap 
 peared upon his pale lips. His knees gave way alto 
 gether, and he crouched there on the floor, gibbering 
 silently at the big man, and plainly terrified clean out 
 of his wits. 
 
 Well, I felt out of it, so to speak. The feeling 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 39 
 
 made me a little resentful. After all, this bum was 
 my bum. 
 
 "Look here, the man s sick," I said to Newman. 
 "Don t look at him like that 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 bit surprised 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 the fellow; it was a soft-voiced but imperative 
 command. 
 
 The command was instantly obeyed. That was 
 Newman for you people didn 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 
 was something in that man, something compelling, 
 and, besides, he had the habit of command in his 
 manner. 
 
 So Beasley tottered to his feet, and stood there 
 swaying. He found his tongue, too, 4 in sensible 
 speech. "For God s sake, get me a drink!" he said. 
 
 I was glad to seize the cue. It gave me an ex 
 cuse to do something. 
 
 "I ll get some whisky downstairs," I sang out 
 to Newman, as I moved for the stairs. "Take him 
 into my room; I ll be right back." 
 
 But when I returned with the liquor a few mo 
 ments later, I discovered that Newman had taken 
 his prize into his own room. I heard the murmur 
 of voices through the closed door. But I had rather 
 
40 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 expected this. Half seas over I might be, but I 
 was still clear-witted enough to realize that I had 
 accidentally brought two old acquaintances to 
 gether, and that one was pleased at the meeting and 
 the other terrified, and that 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 knock upon the door. 
 
 Newman opened, and I handed him the bottle 
 without comment. I could see my erstwhile tow 
 sitting upon the bed, slumped in an attitude of col 
 lapse. He looked so abject ; his condition might have 
 touched a harder heart than mine. But there was 
 no softening of Newman s heart, to judge from his 
 face; the little mirthless smile had vanished and his 
 features were hard and set. Aye, and his manner 
 towards me was curt enough. 
 
 "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 cared if I excused him or not. He shut the 
 door in my face, and I heard the key 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. But strangely enough I did not become 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 41 
 
 incensed ; I never thought of kicking down the door, 
 I never thought of harboring a grudge. It wasn t 
 fear of the big man, either. It was well, that was 
 Newman. He could do a thing like that, and get 
 away with it. 
 
 The carousing gang downstairs was more than 
 ever distasteful to me. I went into my own room 
 and lay down upon the bed. The liquor that was in 
 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 next door neighbors. The walls 
 in the Swede s house were poor barriers to sounds, 
 and lying there on the bed I suddenly found myself 
 overhearing a considerable part of the conversation 
 in the next room. Newman s deep voice was a mere 
 rumble, a menacing rumble, with the words undis- 
 tinguishable, but the beggar s disagreeable whine 
 carried through the partition so distinctly I could 
 not help overhearing nearly every word he said. I 
 didn t try to eavesdrop; at the time Beasley s words 
 had little interest or meaning for me. But after 
 wards, on the ship, I had 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 that wail. For 
 some time that was all I got from the words that 
 came through the wall. I wasn t trying to listen; I 
 was drowsing, and paying very little attention. 
 
42 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 But gradually Beasley s whine grew louder and 
 more distinct. I suppose the whisky was oiling his 
 tongue. Once he cried out sharply, "For God s 
 sake, don t look at me like that I I m telling the 
 truth, I swear I am!" The scrape of a chair fol 
 lowed this outburst, and when the whine began again 
 it was closer to the wall, and more distinct than 
 ever. 
 
 "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 he knew they were 
 forgeries I had to do what he said. But, my God, 
 I didn 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, and 
 everybody just waiting for the announcement that it 
 was a match. Why, he had the whole thing planned, 
 the very day he arrived. I know he had, because 
 he came to me, in the tavern, and told me I was to 
 drop hints here and there through the village that 
 you and Beulah Twigg had been 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 not have helped me. You remem 
 ber my father he was ready to throw me out any 
 way. He never could make allowances for a young 
 fellow s fun. 
 
 "He had others dropping hints around. Trust 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 43 
 
 him to handle a job like that. He was your friend, 
 and Mary s friend your very best friend, and all 
 the time the tongues were wagging behind your back. 
 Why, it was 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 a 
 story they would make of it in a little town like 
 Freeport. Mary must have 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 thick as ever. We were laying bets 
 in the tavern that you would be married before you 
 went to sea again. He didn t like that the talk 
 about your wedding. 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 Old Place and keep your mouth 
 shut and stay away from there. 
 
 "Now you begin to understand? The Old Place 
 that tumble-down old ruin of a house all alone out 
 there on the cliffs. It belonged to my father, you 
 remember, but it hadn t been lived in for years. I 
 had a key because we young bloods used the place 
 for card-playing, and high jinks. 
 
 "I gave him the key. Why not? It was a small 
 matter. He went off to Boston business trip, he 
 said. I could make a good guess at the nature of 
 the business. Didn t I know his ways? But I 
 wouldn t blab; he owned me body and soul. I was 
 
44 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 afraid of him. His soft voice, his slick ways, and 
 what he could do to me if I didn t obey ! 
 
 "He brought Beulah Twigg back with him from 
 Boston. Now you understand? Little Beulah 
 pretty face, empty head, too much heart. He owned 
 her body and soul, too. When folks wondered 
 where she had run off to, I could have told them. 
 I knew how he d played with her, on the 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, to join your ship in 
 New York? A China voyage, wasn t it? Well 
 Beulah left the same day. Just disappeared. And 
 poor old Twigg couldn t understand it. You re 
 member the old fool? Beulah was all the family 
 he had, and after she skipped out he got to drinking. 
 They found him one morning at the bottom of the 
 cliffs, not a hundred yards from the spot where they 
 afterwards found her. 
 
 "But I knew what had become of Beulah. I 
 guessed right. Didn t I know his ways with the 
 girls? You know there weren t many women who 
 could stand out against him. Mary could, and did 
 that s why he was so wild against you. But little 
 Beulah she threw herself at him. And when she 
 ran away, it was to join him in Philadelphia, and 
 go sailing with him to South America. 
 
 "Now you know how he turned the trick on you, 
 don t you? But don t look at me like that! I 
 didn t know what he was doing, I swear I didn t! 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 45 
 
 I thought he just wanted his sweetheart near him, 
 or that she insisted on coming, or something like 
 that. I thought it was devilish bold of him, bring 
 ing the girl where everybody knew her. But then, 
 he really wasn t taking such a chance, because no 
 body ever went near the Old Place, except upon my 
 invitation, and he drove her over from the next 
 township in the night, and she didn t come near the 
 village. I knew, but he knew I wouldn t blab. My 
 God, no ! 
 
 "Well, he came to me the next day after he got 
 back from Boston. I ask a favor of you, he said 
 to me. Yes asking favors, when he knew I must 
 do what he said. Smiling and purring you re 
 member the pleasant manner he had. Just a short 
 note. I know you are handy with the pen, he said. 
 
 "What could I do? I had to look out for my 
 self. He gave me a page from an old letter as a 
 sample of the handwriting. It was Mary Bain- 
 tree s writing; oh, I knew it well. I had it perfect 
 in a few minutes. You know I had a rare trick 
 with the pen in those days before this cough got 
 me, and my hand got shaky. The note I wrote for 
 him was a mere line. Meet me at Beasley s Old 
 Place at three, with her initial signed. That was 
 all. But he had a sheet of her own special note 
 paper for me to write on (no, I don t know where he 
 got it!) and of course he knew like we all knew 
 how fond the two of you were of lovers walks out 
 on the cliffs. 
 
46 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Do you remember how you got that note ? Oh, 
 he was a slick devil. He thought of everything. 
 Abel Horn brought it to you remember? He told 
 you, with a wink and a grin, that it was from a 
 lady but he didn t say what lady. Remember? 
 Well, Beulah had given him the note, and told 
 him to say that not to mention names. Abel 
 was a good fellow; he wouldn 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 be 
 secret about it. Ah, now you understand? But 
 1 swear I didn t know what 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 had made her 
 into a regular echo of himself. She didn t want to, 
 she cried about it, but she had to do what he 
 said. 
 
 "Mary came, as he knew she would. Didn t she 
 have the kindest heart in the country? And there 
 he was, with Beulah, with his eyes on her, and his 
 soft, sly words making her lie seem more true. I 
 heard it all. I was upstairs. He placed me there, in 
 case Mary didn t believe; then I was to come in and 
 tell about seeing you and Beulah together in Boston, 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 47 
 
 and how she begged me to bring her home. But 
 for God s sake! I didn t do it. I didn t have to. 
 Mary believed. How could she help believing 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 say it, she faltered and choked 
 on the lie, but his eyes were on her, and his voice 
 urged her, and so she had to say it. The very way 
 she carried on made the lie seem true. 
 
 "Well, Mary did just what he expected her to 
 do. She promised to help Beulah; she told Beulah 
 she would make you make amends. Then she rushed 
 out of the house and met you coming along the 
 cliff road coming along all spruced up, and with 
 the look about you of one going to meet a lady. 
 Just as he planned. 
 
 "What more could Mary ask in the way of evi 
 dence than the sight of you in that place at that 
 time? Of course she was convinced, completely con 
 vinced. And she behaved just as he knew she would 
 behave she denounced 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 slick 
 devil ! He knew your pride and temper ; he counted 
 on them. He knew you would 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. 
 You packed up and went off to New York that night 
 to join your ship and that was just what he wanted 
 you to do. 
 
48 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Next morning you were gone, and they picked 
 up little Beulah at the bottom of the cliffs. And you 
 gone in haste, without a word. They said she 
 jumped desertion, despair, you know what they 
 would make of it. 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 certain she didn t jump. I tell you he 
 was a devil. There wasn t anything he wouldn t do. 
 He didn t have such a feeling as mercy. Didn t I 
 find it out? 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. He 
 showed those checks I had signed and I had to go, 
 I had to go far and in a hurry. After all I had 
 done for him, that s the way he treated me." 
 
 There was a movement of chairs in the next room, 
 and a scraping of feet. There was more talk, New 
 man s heavy murmur, and responding whines. But 
 I do not remember what else was said. In fact, al 
 though I have given you Beasley s tale in straight 
 forward fashion, I did not overhear it as I tell it. I 
 caught it in snatches, so to speak, rather discon 
 nected snatches which I pieced together afterwards. 
 I heard this fellow, Beasley, talk while lying drows 
 ing on the bed, and not trying particularly to under 
 stand his words. In fact, I did drop off to sleep. 
 First thing I knew, the Knitting Swede was shaking 
 me awake. "Yump out of it, Yackie," says he. "We 
 go aboard." 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 49 
 
 I turned out, shouldered my sea-bag, and went 
 downstairs. There was Newman, with his dunnage, 
 waiting. He was alone. There was no sign of my 
 beggar about. In fact, I never saw him again. New 
 man s face didn t invite questions. 
 
 As a matter of fact, I didn t even think of asking 
 him questions. I had forgotten Beasley; I was wor 
 rying about myself. Now that the hour had come 
 to join the ship, I wasn t feeling quite so carefree 
 and chesty. 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 con 
 siderably elated when the vehicle drew up before the 
 door; it is not every sailorman who rides down to the 
 dock in a hack, you bet ! The Swede was spreading 
 himself to give us a grand send-off, I thought ! But 
 I changed my mind when we started. The hack was 
 on Newman s account, solely; and he made a quick 
 dash from the door to its shelter, with his face con 
 cealed by cap and pea-coat collar. He didn t want 
 to be seen in the streets that is why we rode in 
 the hack! 
 
 The ride was made amidst a silence that proved 
 to be a wet blanket to all 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 cobblestones jolted the sea-bags against 
 him, and grunting at my efforts to make conver- 
 
50 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 sation. 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 sailing in the Golden Bough because 
 of the lady aft, and that he had once owned some 
 other name than "Newman." That was as plain as 
 the nose on my face. I didn t bother my head about 
 it; the man s reasons were his own, and foc sle cus 
 tom said that a shipmate should be judged by his 
 acts, not by his past, or his motives. But I did 
 bother my head about his question in the hack or 
 rather about the Swede s manner of replying 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 a father towards an in 
 dulged child. This was a proper bearing for a 
 powerful crimp to adopt towards a foremost hand. 
 But the Swede s manner towards Newman was dif 
 ferent. There was respect in it, as though he were 
 talking to some skipper. It considerably increased 
 the feeling 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 on board in orthodox fashion, on 
 a tug, with drugged and drunken men lying around, 
 to be met at the rail by the mates, and dressed down 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 51 
 
 into the foc sle. Such was the custom of the port. 
 But when we alighted at Meigg s Wharf not a sailor 
 or runner was in sight. A regiment of roosting gulls 
 was in lonely possession of the planking. The hack 
 rattled away; the Swede, bidding us gather up our 
 dunnage and follow him, 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 t going to sail the ruddy 
 packet?" 
 
 "They ll follow later," replied Newman. "The 
 Swede is going to put us two aboard. He s getting 
 the boat free now." 
 
 I stopped stock still. The constant surprises were 
 rapidly shocking me sober, and this last one fairly 
 took my breath for a moment. The Swede was 
 putting us on board! 
 
 Now, the King of Crimps didn t put sailormen 
 on board. He hired runners to oversee the disposal 
 of the slaves. The most he did was lounge in the 
 sternsheets of his Whitehall while his retainers 
 rowed him out to a ship to interview the captain, 
 and collect his blood money. It was unusual for the 
 Swede to go down to the dock with a couple of men; 
 and now, he was going to fasten his lordly 
 hands upon a pair of oars and row us out to our 
 vessel ! 
 
 "Say, what is the idea?" I demanded of Newman. 
 "We are no flaming dukes to be coddled this way!" 
 
 Newman placed his hand upon my shoulders. 
 
52 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "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 fix it with the Swede, all right." 
 
 I should have liked to have taken the advice, I ad 
 mit. I was not in nearly such a vainglorious mood as 
 I had been back in the Swede s barroom, with the 
 waterfront applauding me. If Newman had offered 
 to dodge around the corner with me, I d have gone. 
 The aspect of that empty wharf was depressing, and 
 there was something sinister about all these unusual 
 circumstances surrounding our joining the ship. I 
 began to feel that there was something wrong about 
 the Golden Bough besides her bucko mates, and I 
 possessed the superstitions of my kind. But New 
 man did not offer to dodge around the corner with 
 me. He was merely advising me, in a fatherly, pity 
 ing fashion that my nineteen-year-old manhood 
 could not stomach. 
 
 "I shipped in her, and I ll sail in her," I told him, 
 shortly. "I can stand as much hell as any man, and 
 I d join her if I had to swim for it. That flaming 
 packet can t scare me away; I ll take a pay-day from 
 her, yet !" I was bound I d live up to my reputation 
 as a hard case ! I was letting Newman know I was 
 just as proper a nut as himself. 
 
 The Swede hailed us from the darkness beyond. 
 We reached the wharf edge, and dimly made out the 
 Swede s huge bulk squatting in a Whitehall boat 
 below. "Yurnp in!" he bade us. We tossed our 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 53 
 
 bags down, followed ourselves, and a moment later 
 I was bidding farewell to the beach. 
 
 The Swede lay back manfully on the oars, grunt 
 ing with every stroke. He was expert; he seemed to 
 make nothing of the inrushing tide, and quickly fer 
 ried us out into the fairway. Newman and I sat 
 together in the sternsheets, each wrapped in his 
 mantle of dignified silence. I kept my eyes on the 
 black bulk of the vessel we were rapidly nearing, 
 and I confess my thoughts were not very cheerful. 
 One needed jolly companions, and more drink inside 
 than I had, to have cheerful thoughts when joining 
 the Golden Bough. 
 
 The Swede lay on his oars when we were a few 
 hundred yards from the ship, allowing us to drift 
 down with the tide. He fumbled about his clothes 
 for a moment, and produced a bottle. "Here, 
 yoongstar, you take a yoltl" he commanded, pass 
 ing me the bottle. 
 
 I thought he was just bolstering up my courage, 
 and I was grateful. I swallowed a great gulp of the 
 fiery stuff. It was good liquor, and possessed an 
 added flavor to which I was stranger. 
 
 I passed the bottle to Newman; he accepted it, but 
 I noticed he did not drink. 
 
 The Swede lifted up his voice and hailed the 
 ship. Immediately, the most magnificent fore-top- 
 sail-yard-ahoy voice I had ever heard bellowed a 
 reply, "Ahoy, the boat! What d ye want?" 
 
 "That ban Lynch," remarked the Swede to us. 
 
54 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Then he called in reply. "Ay ban Swede Olson with 
 two hands for you ! Heave over da Yacob s ladder, 
 Mistar Lynch!" He lay back on his oars, and shot 
 us under the quarter. 
 
 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 his reputation led one to 
 expect. But at the moment I was impressed only by 
 his big body and stern face. In truth, even that im 
 pression was hazy, for the drink I had taken from 
 the Swede s bottle a moment before proved to be 
 surprisingly potent. No sooner did I set foot upon 
 the deck than I commenced to feel a heavy languor 
 overcoming my body and mind. 
 
 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 human gorilla, with 
 a battered face and brutal, pitiless mouth the 
 dreaded Fitzgibbon, "chief kicker" of the Golden 
 Bough. 
 
 Mister "Fitz" regarded us with a sneering smile. 
 "Huh, stewed to the gills ! What did you dope em 
 with, Swede?" he said. Then he added to Lynch, 
 "Good beef, though. They ll pull their weight. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 55 
 
 Hope there are more like them." He gave his re 
 gard to me, looked me up and down slowly, and 
 then turned his eyes on Newman. "Shipped them 
 selves, did they? Two jumps ahead o the police, I 
 bet ! Lord, what a cargo he s got aboard !" 
 
 This last referred to Newman. I was staring at 
 him, myself, with stupid surprise, his peculiar antics 
 aiding me to retain a slender clutch on my senses. 
 
 For Newman was drunk, rip-roaring drunk. Now 
 mind, he had been cold sober a few moments before 
 when I handed him the Swede s bottle, and I was 
 quite certain he had not touched that bottle to his 
 lips. He came over the rail with the bottle clutched 
 in his hand, and as soon as he touched the deck he 
 was as pickled as any sailor who ever joined a ship. 
 He hung his head, and lurched unsteadily from foot 
 to foot, mumbling to himself. Suddenly he bran 
 dished the bottle, and commenced to howl, "Blow 
 the Man Down," in a raucous voice. 
 
 "Stow that!" commanded Lynch, shortly. "You ll 
 wake up the lady I" 
 
 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 your dunnage 
 andgetfor rd!" 
 
 Newman and I grappled laboriously with our 
 bags. Fitzgibbon spoke to the Swede. "When does 
 the crew come off?" 
 
56 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Flood tide," answered the Swede. "Captain 
 Swope comes with them. And I 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 I lost, for Newman and I went 
 stumbling forward to the forecastle. 
 
 We dumped our bags upon the floor, and New 
 man lighted the lamp. My knees gave way, and 
 I sat down upon the bench that ran around beside 
 the tiers of empty bunks. Then, when the flickering 
 light revealed my companion s face, I felt another 
 shock of surprise. 
 
 For Newman was sober again. As soon as he 
 was out of sight of the group on the after deck, he 
 dropped his inebriety like a mantle. The face I 
 looked into was alert and hard set, and the eyes 
 gleamed strangely as though the man were laboring 
 under a strong, repressed excitement. Newman 
 wore an air of triumph, as though he had just ac 
 complished a difficult victory. My tongue had sud 
 denly become very thick, but I managed to mumble 
 a query. "Say, matey, what s the game?" 
 
 He regarded me sharply. "What s the matter 
 with you, lad?" he exclaimed. He leaned over, 
 pressed up one of my eyelids, and looked into my 
 eye. Then he tilted the bottle he still carried, and 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 57 
 
 wetted his lips 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, a wonderful thing happened. He 
 suddenly dwindled in size until he was no larger 
 than a manikin, going through the motion of drink 
 ing from a tiny bottle; while in contrast, his voice 
 increased so tremendously in volume it broke upon 
 my ears like a surf upon a beach. I couldn t grasp 
 the miracle. 
 
 ". . . well, not enough to hurt . . all right to 
 morrow . . ." Newman boomed. 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 
 found something 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 her 
 child! 
 
 The last thing I saw, or thought I saw, ere oblivion 
 overcrept me, was Newman s manikin-sized figure 
 stretching out in a manikin-sized bunk opposite. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MY head ached, my tongue was thick and 
 wood-tastey, but I awoke in full possession 
 of my faculties. Even in the brief instant 
 between the awakening and the eye-opening, I sensed 
 what was about. 
 
 The motion told me the ship was under way. The 
 noises that had probably aroused me, boomed com 
 mands, stormed curses, groans, sounds of blows, 
 feet stamping all told me that the mates were 
 turning to the crew. I sat up and looked 
 around. 
 
 It had been dark night, and the foc sle empty, 
 when Newman had tucked me in for my drugged 
 siesta. Now it was broad day, and a bright streak 
 of sunlight streaming into the dirty hole through the 
 open door showed men s forms sprawled in the 
 bunks about me. 
 
 The Golden Bough had a topgallant foc sle, the 
 port and starboard sides divided by a partition that 
 reached not quite to the deck above, and which con 
 tained a connecting door. Newman and I had stum 
 bled into the port foc sle the previous night, and 
 as I sat up, I discovered that the babel of sound 
 came from the starboard side of the partition. 
 I swung up into the bunk above my head, raised 
 
 58 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 59 
 
 my eyes above the partition, and looked down. 
 
 I saw Mister Lynch, the second mate, standing in 
 the middle of the starboard foc sle s floor. He was 
 turning to the crew with a vengeance. His method 
 was simple, effective, but rather ungentle. His long 
 arm would dart into a bunk where lay huddled a 
 formless heap of rags. This heap of rags, yanked 
 bodily out of bed, would resolve itself into a limp 
 and drunken man. Then Mister Lynch would 
 commence to eject life into the sodden lump, 
 working scientifically and dispassionately, and 
 bellowing the while ferocious oaths in the victim s 
 ear. 
 
 "Out on deck with you!" he would cry, shaking 
 the limp bundle much as a dog would shake a rat. 
 A sharp clout on either jaw would elicit a profane 
 protest from the patient. The toe of his heavy 
 boot, sharply applied where it would do the most 
 good, would produce further evidences of life. 
 Then Lynch would take firm grasp of the scruff 
 of the neck and seat of the breeches, and hurl the 
 resurrected one through the door onto the deck, 
 and out of range of my vision. A waspish voice 
 streaming blistering oaths proved that Mister 
 Fitzgibbon was welcoming each as he emerged into 
 daylight. Another voice, melodiously penetrating 
 the uproar, proved another man was watching the 
 crew turn to. I recognized the silky, musical voice 
 of Yankee Swope. "Stir them up, Mister! Make 
 
60 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 them jump! My ship is no hotel!" is what it 
 said. 
 
 The second mate boosted the starboard foc sle s 
 last occupant deckwards; then he paused a moment 
 for a breathing spell. Next, his roving eye rested 
 upon my face blinking down at him from the top of 
 the wall. 
 
 "Oh, ho so you have come to life, have you!" 
 he addressed me. "The Swede 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 before him, feel 
 ing rather sheepish at having been discovered 
 spying. 
 
 "Where is that big jasper who came aboard with 
 you?" he suddenly demanded of me. 
 
 "Why there !" I replied promptly, indicating the 
 bunk opposite the one in which I had slept. 
 
 Then, I became aware that Newman was not in 
 that bunk; and a rapid survey 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 he was in contained an occupant of very 
 different aspect from my grim companion of the 
 night before. 
 
 A short, spare man of some thirty years, wearing 
 an old red flannel shirt, was stretched out upon the 
 bare bunk-boards. Lynch and I contemplated him 
 in silence for a moment. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 61 
 
 He was no beachcomber or sailor, one could tell 
 that at a glance. His skin had no tan upon it. It 
 was white and soft. Obviously, he was no inhabitant 
 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 was the cause, I suspected, of his 
 swoon, and stertorous breathing. Dried blood was 
 plastered on the boards about his head, and his 
 thick, dark hair was clotted and matted with the 
 flow from his wound. 
 
 Lynch leaned over, and opened one of the fel 
 low s loosely clenched hands. It was as white and 
 soft as a lady s hand. 
 
 u This jasper is no bum or sailor!" declared 
 Lynch. "That damn Swede s been up to some o his 
 tricks. Well we ll make a sailor of him before we 
 fetch China Sea, I reckon!" He straightened, and 
 turned on me with another demand for Newman. 
 "Where did you say that big jasper was?" 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I could have 
 sworn Newman had turned into that bunk; and I 
 told him so. 
 
 Lynch snorted. "Didn t have the guts to face 
 the music, I reckon, and cleared out! Well, if he 
 tried to swim for it, I ll bet he s feeding fishes now!" 
 His eyes roved around the room. Several of the 
 bunks were occupied by nondescript figures, but New 
 man s huge bulk did not appear. "Damned seedy 
 
62 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 bunch," commented Lynch. "Couldn t afford to lose 
 good beef. Hello who s this?" 
 
 His eyes rested upon the bunk farthest forward, 
 athwartship bunk in the eyes. The body of a big 
 man lying therein loomed indistinctly in the gloom 
 of the corner. Lynch reached the bunk with a 
 bound, and I was close behind. 
 
 But it was not Newman. It was the Cockney ! 
 The very man to whom the Swede had tendered the 
 runner s job, the man Newman had manhandled! 
 He lay on his back, snoring loudly, his bloated, un 
 lovely face upturned to us. 
 
 I laughed. "It s the runner," I said. "The 
 Swede s first runner. Swede gave him the job yes 
 terday." 
 
 "And gave him a swig out of the black bottle last 
 night!" commented Lynch. 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 himself with unseemly levity in com 
 pany with a foremast hand. His face became stern, 
 his voice hard, and my moment of grace was ended. 
 
 "Turn to!" he commanded me. "What are you 
 standing about for? Get out on 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. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 63 
 
 "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 this packet! 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 deaf otherwise, what with the mate s obscene, 
 shrill voice ringing through the ship, and the rattle 
 of blocks, the cries of men, and the tramp of their 
 feet as they pulled together. Now, as I stepped 
 from the foc sle into 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 lifted 
 anchor and taken the Golden Bough to sea back to 
 San Francisco. And we were fairly to sea ; the rug 
 ged coast of Marin was miles astern, and the 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 to join the crowd. For I was 
 minded to take the second mate s advice, and fly 
 about my work in the Golden Bough. To wait for 
 an order, was, I knew well enough, to wait for a 
 blow. The crowd were already at the lee braces, 
 commencing to trim up the yards, and I tailed onto 
 the line and threw in my weight, thanking my lucky 
 
 64 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 65 
 
 star that Mister Fitzgibbon was too busied with the 
 weather braces to accord my advent on deck any 
 other reception than a sizzling oath. 
 
 We got the ship under way, and then jumped to 
 other work. Mister Lynch had flung several more 
 sick, frightened wretches out of the foc sle, and now 
 he joined with the mate in forcible encouragement 
 of our efforts. The port gang had hoisted the yards, 
 and loosed the sails, but the upper canvas was ill 
 sheeted, and soon we were pully-hauling for dear 
 life. 
 
 The best of ships is a madhouse the first day at 
 sea, but the Golden Bough God! she was mad 
 house and purgatory rolled into one! My own 
 agility and knowledge saved me from ill usage for 
 the moment, since the mates had plenty of igno 
 rant, clumsy material to work upon. Such material ! 
 I never before or after saw such a welter of human 
 misery as on 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 
 a word of English, half of them were still drunk, 
 and stumbled and fell as they were driven about, the 
 other half were seasick and all but helpless. Oh, 
 they caught it, I tell you ! The mates were merci 
 less, 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 his hands, and 
 kick him until he bent his weight upon it. It was 
 bitter driving. But I ll admit it brought order out 
 
66 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 of chaos. We cleared the decks of the first-day-out 
 hurrah s nest in jig time. Mercifully, it was fair 
 weather, with a light, steady, fair breeze. 
 
 I found myself working shoulder to shoulder with 
 a big, trim-bodied mulatto. He was a sailorman, 
 I saw at a glance, and we stuck together as much as 
 possible during the morning. He already bore Fitz- 
 gibbon s mark in the shape of a raw gash on his fore 
 head, and his blood-specked eyes were hot with min 
 gled rage and terror. He murmured over and over 
 again to me, as though obsessed by the words, "Does 
 yoh know where yoh am, mate ? Lawd de Golden 
 Bough! de Golden Bough!" 
 
 There came an ominous flapping of canvas aloft. 
 "He done gib her too much wheel!" said the mulatto 
 to me. "Lawd help him!" 
 
 The black-bearded man who had been lounging 
 over the poop rail watching us work, and at whom I 
 had been casting curious and fearful glances as I 
 rushed about beneath his arctic glare, now swung 
 about and damned the helmsman s eye with soft 
 voiced, deadly words. The mates voices dropped 
 low, and we listened to Yankee Swope s storm of 
 venomous curses with bated breath. 
 
 As a man curses so he is. I learned that truth 
 that morning, a truth amply tested by the days that 
 came after. It was like a book page before my 
 eyes, revealing the different characters of the three 
 men who ruled our world, by comparison of their 
 oaths. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 67 
 
 Now Lynch swore robustious oaths in a hearty 
 voice. They enlivened your legs and arms, for you 
 sensed there was a blow behind the words if you 
 lagged. But they did not rasp your soul. You 
 knew there was no personal application to them. 
 They were the oaths of a bluff, hard man who would 
 drive you mercilessly, but who would none the less 
 respect your manhood. They were the oaths of the 
 boss to the man, and they bespoke force. 
 
 Fitzgibbon s swearing always sounded dirty. His 
 curses fell about you like a vile shower, and aroused 
 your hot resentment; the same words that came 
 clean from Lynch s lips, sounded vile from Fitz- 
 gibbon, because the man, himself, was bad through 
 and through. His oaths were the oaths of a slave- 
 driver to the slave, and they bespoke cruelty. 
 
 But the curses of Captain Swope ! God keep me 
 from ever hearing their like again. They sounded 
 worse than harsh, or vile, they sounded inhuman. 
 The words came soft and melodious from his lips, 
 but they were forked with poison and viciousness. 
 As we of the foc sle listened to him curse the helms 
 man, that first morning out, each man felt fear s icy 
 finger touch the pit of his stomach. The captain s 
 words horrified us, they sounded so utterly evil, and 
 foretold so plainly the suffering that was to come 
 to us. 
 
 He suddenly cut short his cursing, and turning, 
 caught sight of us, men and mates, standing idle by 
 the main fife rail. "What s this, Misters?" he sang 
 
68 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 out. "Going asleep on the job? Rush those dogs 
 rush them! And send a man aft to the wheel a 
 sailorman ! This damned 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 to curse us in 
 a steady stream. Lynch reached out and dragged 
 me away from the line on which I was heaving. u Aft 
 with you!" he ordered me. "Take the wheel 
 lively, now!" 
 
 Lively it was. I ran along the lee deck towards 
 the poop, my belly griped by the knowledge that the 
 black-bearded man was watching my progress. Nine 
 teen-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 on the poop, afraid of the soft 
 voice that cursed so horribly. 
 
 It was a little squarehead who had the wheel. A 
 young Scandinavian, an undersized, scrawny boy. 
 He was pallid, and glazy-eyed with terror, as well 
 he might be after facing the Old Man s tirade, and 
 when I took the spokes from his nerveless grasp he 
 had not sufficient wit left to give me the course. In 
 deed, he had not much chance to speak, for Captain 
 Swope had followed me aft, and as soon as I had the 
 wheel he commenced on the luckless youth. 
 
 u You didn t watch her, did you? Now I ll show 
 you what happens in my ship when a man goes to 
 sleep on his job !" he purred. Purred aye, that is 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 69 
 
 the word. Through his beard I could see the tip of 
 his tongue rimming his lips, as he contemplated the 
 frightened boy, much like a cat contemplating a 
 choice mor&el about to be devoured; and there was 
 a beam of satisfaction in his eye. Oh, it was very 
 evident that Yankee Swope was about to enjoy him- 
 self. 
 
 The poor squarehead cowered backward, and 
 Swope stepped forward and drove his clenched fist 
 into the boy s face, smashing him against the cabin 
 skylights. The boy cried out with pain and fear, 
 the blood gushing from his nose, and, placing his 
 hands over his face, he tried to escape by running 
 forward. Swope, the devil, ran beside him, shower 
 ing blows upon his unprotected head, and as they 
 reached the break 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, used to 
 cruelty, and regarding it as natural and inevitable, 
 but as I stood there at the wheel and watched 
 Yankee Swope manhandle that boy I became sick 
 with disgust and rage. Aye, and with fear, for 
 what was happening to the squarehead might well 
 happen to me! 
 
 The boy ceased to squirm under the impact of the 
 boots, and his pained cries were silenced. Then the 
 captain ceased his kicking, though he did not cease 
 
70 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the silky-toned evil curses that slid from his lips. 
 He leaned over the bruised, insensible form, grasped 
 the clothes, and heaved the boy clear off the poop, 
 much as one might heave aside a sack of rubbish. 
 So the little squarehead vanished from my ken for 
 the time being, though I heard the thud of his body 
 striking the deck below. 
 
 Swope stood looking down at his handiwork for 
 a moment; then he swung about and came aft, brush 
 ing invisible dirt from his clothes as he walked. 
 When he drew near, I saw his eyes were bright with 
 joyous excitement; yes, by heaven, Captain Swope 
 was happy because of the work he had just done; he 
 was a man who found pleasure in inflicting pain upon 
 others! He paused at my side, glanced sharply at 
 me, then aloft at the highest weather leech, for I 
 was steering full and by. But he found no cause 
 for offense, and after damning my eye to be careful, 
 he turned away and commenced pacing up and down. 
 I was in a furious rage against the man. But when 
 he looked at me my knees felt weak, and I answered 
 his words respectfully and meekly indeed. God s 
 truth, I was afraid of him! 
 
 Oh, it was not his size. Yankee Swope was only 
 of medium build; I was much the better man phys 
 ically, and could have wiped the deck with him in 
 short order though, of course, a quick death would 
 have rewarded any such attempt upon the master 
 of the Golden Bough. Nor was his face ill to look 
 at. Indeed, he had a handsome face, though beard 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 71 
 
 and mustache covered half of it, and there was a 
 peculiar and disturbing glitter in his black eyes. 
 Some of my fear was caused, I think, by the sinister 
 softness of his voice. But most of it was caused 
 by the impression the man, himself, gave call it 
 personality, if you like. It was much like the im 
 pression of utter recklessness that Newman gave, 
 only in Yankee Swope s case it was not recklessness, 
 but utter wickedness. An aura of evil seemed to 
 cling about him, he walked about in an atmosphere 
 of black iniquity that was horrifying. Any fore 
 mast hand would look after Yankee Swope and say, 
 "There he s sold his soul to 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 held the wheel. "You re in for it, 
 Shreve!" I thought. "This packet is so hot 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 m a ruddy sol 
 dier I" 
 
 Standing there at the wheel, with one eye upon 
 Captain Swope and the other 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 hard ships and hard men. I wished 
 I had not shown myself such a hard case back there 
 in the Swede s. I cursed myself for the vainglorious 
 fool I was for having put myself in such a hole. The 
 only rift in my cloud of gloom was Lynch; the sec- 
 
72 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 ond mate seemed favorably disposed towards me, 
 I reflected, and had promised to choose me for his 
 watch. He said I would be safe if I jumped lively 
 to my work. I promised myself to do that same, 
 for I foresaw a cruel fate for the malingering man 
 aboard that vessel. 
 
 From Lynch, my thoughts naturally jumped to 
 Newman. What had become of him? Deserted, 
 as Lynch had declared? Developed a craven streak, 
 and cleared out? No. My grim, reserved compan 
 ion of the night before had had some strong, secret 
 purpose in joining the Golden Bough; if he had de 
 serted, I knew it was in obedience to that same hid 
 den purpose, and not from fear of ship or officers. 
 
 It was while I was speculating about Newman s 
 disappearance that Mister Lynch came aft and re 
 ported that fact to the Old Man, in my hearing. 
 "We have them all hustling except two," he told 
 Swope. "One jasper the Swede dosed with his black 
 bottle, and another one who has been sandbagged. 
 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 the two the Swede told us about, 
 who picked the ship themselves. There s one of 
 them at the wheel. But the other one, the big one, 
 was gone this morning. Best looking beef of the 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 73 
 
 entire lot, too. Good sailorman, 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 disap 
 peared when I woke up this morning." 
 
 "Huh! Sounds fishy!" was his response. "Don t 
 lie to me, my lad, or I ll wring your neck for you !" 
 He stood silent a moment, opening and shutting his 
 fingers, just as though he were turning the matter 
 over in the 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 the swab is gone, he s gone. 
 Drive the rest of them the harder to make up for 
 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 moment I had feared the captain 
 would blame me for Newman s absence. With the 
 little squarehead s fate fresh in my mind I had no 
 desire to foul Yankee 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 he had 
 not stayed. It was not fear that made him clear 
 
74 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 out; of that I was certain. What then? The 
 lady? 
 
 I began to think about the Golden Bough s lady. 
 To think of Newman was 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 a discarded lover? Was she the lass 
 in the beggarman s yarn? Had he shipped so he 
 might worship his beloved from the lowly foc sle? 
 Or was he seeking vengeance? Oh, I read my 
 Southworth and Bulwer in those days, and had some 
 fine ideas regarding the tender passion. I felt sure 
 there was some romantic heart-bond between New 
 man and the lady. 
 
 I wondered if the lady were really so lovely, 
 possessed of such goodness of heart, as glowing 
 foc sle report declared. Was she really an incar 
 nate Mercy in this floating hell? Did she really go 
 forward and bind up the men s hurts? Why did 
 she not show herself on deck this fine morning? I 
 wanted to see this angel who was wedded to a devil. 
 
 I heard her voice first, ascending through the sky 
 light. It thrilled me. Not the words she was but 
 giving a direction to the Chinese steward but the 
 rich, sweet quality of the voice. I, the foc sle Jack, 
 whose ears portion was harsh, bruising oaths, felt 
 the feminine accents as a healing salve. They stirred 
 forgotten memories ; they sent my mind leaping back 
 wards over the hard years to my childhood, and the 
 sound of my mother s voice. No wonder; I had 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 75 
 
 scarce once heard the mellow sound of a good 
 woman s voice since I ran away to sea five years 
 before, only the hard voices of hard men, and, now 
 and then, the shrill voice of some shrew of the water 
 side. 
 
 She ascended from the cabin, and stepped out 
 upon deck, and, as if moving as far as possible from 
 the harsh voices forward, came aft and stood near 
 the wheel. And at the first glance, I knew that foc sle 
 report of the lady was not overdrawn, that the most 
 glowing description did ill justice to her loveliness. 
 
 Her age? Oh, twenty-four, perhaps. Beautiful? 
 Aye, judged by any standard. But it was not her 
 youth, or the trimness of her figure, or the mere 
 physical beauty of her features that touched the 
 hearts, and made reverent the voices of rude sailor- 
 men. No; it was something beyond, something 
 greater, than the flesh that commanded our homage. 
 
 Once since have I seen a face that was like the 
 face of Captain Swope s wife in a great church in 
 a Latin country. It was a painting of the Madonna, 
 and the master who had painted it had given the 
 Mother s face an expression of brooding tenderness 
 as deep as the sea, an expression of pity and sym 
 pathy as wide as the world. You felt, as you looked 
 at the picture, that the artist must have known life, 
 its sufferings and sins. 
 
 It was a like expression in the face of the Cap 
 tain s lady. She was no pretty lass whose sweet 
 innocence is merely ignorance. She was a woman 
 
76 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 who had looked upon life; you felt that she had 
 faced the black evil and hideous cruelty in a man s 
 world, and that she understood, and forgave. You 
 felt her soul had passed through a fierce, white 
 heat of pain, and had emerged burned clean of dross, 
 free of all petty rancor or hatred. It glowed in her 
 face, this wide understanding and sympathy, looked 
 from her eyes, and sounded in her voice, and it was 
 this that won the worship of the desperate men and 
 broken derelicts who peopled 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 a morning 
 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 hard 
 ness I had striven so hard to cultivate fled from my 
 face. She saw through my pretence, did the lady, 
 she saw me as I really was, a boy playing desperately 
 at being such a man as my experience had taught 
 me to admire. I was abashed. I* was no longer 
 a hard case with those pitying, understanding eyes 
 upon me. I was like a lad detected in a mischief, 
 facing my mother. 
 
 She had heard some talk in the cabin, or perhaps 
 she had overheard Lynch s report to the Old Man, 
 for her words showed she knew me as one of the 
 men who had shipped in the vessel of my own will. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 77 
 
 "Why you are only a boy!" she said, in a sur 
 prised voice. Then her face seemed to diffuse a 
 sweet sympathy and understanding. I can t explain 
 it, but I knew that the lady knew just why I had 
 shipped. She looked inside of me, 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 of 
 fense; whatever they do, show no resentment. 
 Oh, they are hard forget your pride, and be will- 
 ing!" 
 
 She seemed about to say more, but Captain Swope 
 interrupted. When she appeared on deck, he affected 
 not to see her; he had paced past her twice, but 
 not by the quiver of an eyelash had he shown him 
 self aware of her presence. Now he suddenly 
 paused nearby. Perhaps his sailor s sense of fitness 
 was ruffled by the sight of her in conversation with 
 the man at the wheel; or, more likely, his eye had 
 noted the scene occurring forward, and he wished 
 to force it upon her attention, because it would 
 cause her pain. 
 
 u Ah, madam, commencing your good works so 
 soon?" he remarked, in a soft, sneering voice. 
 "Well, from all signs for ard, you had better over 
 haul your medicine chest. You will have a patient 
 or two to sniffle over to-morrow morning." 
 
 The lady shuddered ever so slightly at Swope s 
 words, and her features contracted, as though with 
 pain. Just for an instant then she was serenity 
 
78 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 again, and she gazed forward, as Swope bade, and 
 silently watched the mates at their work. 
 
 They were manhandling, of course. I might 
 have found humor in the scene had not the lady 
 just stirred the softer chords of my being. Away 
 forward, by the foc sle door, Mister Lynch was 
 engaged in dressing down the Cockney. This was 
 not a particularly interesting exhibition, though, for 
 although the Cockney showed fight, he was clearly 
 outmatched, and arose from the deck only to be 
 knocked down again. 
 
 But, by the main hatch was a more interesting 
 spectacle. There, Mister Fitzgibbon was busied 
 with the spare, red-shirted man, he of the intelli 
 gent face and gashed skull, the man I had found 
 so mysteriously occupying the bunk Newman had 
 gone to bed in, and who, Lynch declared, was 
 neither sailor, nor bum. There on the poop, we 
 could not overhear the small man s words for 
 Mister Fitz s shrill cursing, but he seemed to be 
 expostulating with the mate. And he seemed intent 
 on forcing past the mate and coming aft. He would 
 try to run past the hatch, and Fitzgibbon would 
 punch him and send him reeling backwards. Even 
 as we watched, the mate seized him by the collar 
 of his red shirt, slammed him up against the rail, 
 and then, with a belaying pin, hazed him forward 
 at a run. 
 
 I heard the lady sigh and Swope chuckled. 
 Then I noticed she was staring fixedly at the side 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 79 
 
 of the cabin skylight. A few drops of the blood 
 the Old Man had drawn from the little squarehead 
 were splattered upon the woodwork and the deck. 
 Silently, she regarded them, and her slight figure 
 seemed to droop a bit. Then, with a queer little 
 shrug, she squared her shoulders, and faced the 
 Captain with up-tilted chin. . . . Aye, and I sensed 
 the meaning of that little shrug, and the squared 
 shoulders. It meant that she had picked up her 
 Cross, and that she would courageously bear it in 
 pain and sorrow through the dark days of the com 
 ing voyage. For I truly believe the lady suffered 
 vicariously 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 they will be required." There 
 was no active hate in her voice, or in her eyes, but 
 she looked at the man much as one looks at some 
 loathsome yet inevitable object a snake, or a toad. 
 And she turned away without further words, and 
 descended to the cabin. Swope watched her depar 
 ture with a half smile parting his beard and mus 
 tache. Oh, how I longed to be 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 mates turned the crowd 
 to after a short half hour for dinner. Oh, 
 what a changed Cockney from yestereve 1 He 
 came slinking meekly along the lee side of the 
 poop. When he took over the wheel he had hardly 
 spirit enough in him to mumble over the direc 
 tions I gave him. His eyes were puffed half 
 closed, and his lips were cut and swollen. Gone 
 was the swanking, swaggering Cockney who had 
 paraded before the Swede s bar. Instead there 
 was only this cowed, miserable sailorman taking 
 over the wheel. That Cockney had suffered a 
 cruel double cross when he drank of the black bottle, 
 and was hoisted over the Golden Bough s rail. Yes 
 terday he was a great man, the "Knitting Swede s" 
 chief bully, with the hard seafare behind him, and 
 with unlimited rum, and an easy, if rascally, shore 
 life ahead of him. To-day he was just a shell-back 
 outward bound, with a sore head and a bruised 
 body; a fellow sufferer in 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 was sorry for him. The more sorry because 
 I felt that the jocose Swede had come near having 
 
 80 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 81 
 
 me as the butt of his little joke, instead of Cockney. 
 
 I scurried forward, intent upon dinner. I drew 
 my whack from the Chinaman in the gallery, and 
 bolted it down in the empty foc sle. It was a miser 
 able repast, a dish of ill-cooked lobscouse, and a 
 pannikin of muddy coffee, and I reflected glumly 
 that I had joined a hungry ship as well as a hot one. 
 
 I finished the last of that mysterious stew, and 
 then filled and lighted my pipe. I felt sure I would 
 be allowed the half hour dinner spell the rest of 
 the crowd had enjoyed, and I relaxed and puffed 
 contentedly, determined to enjoy my respite to the 
 last minute. For the sounds from the deck indicated 
 a lively afternoon for all hands. But something 
 occurred to interrupt my cherished "Smoke 
 O," something that caused me to sit up sud 
 denly and stiffly on the bench, while my pipe fell 
 unheeded from my slackened mouth, and an un 
 pleasant prickle ran over my scalp and down my 
 spine. 
 
 I have already mentioned that the Golden 
 Bough had a topgallant forecastle; that is, the 
 crew s quarters were away forward, in the bows 
 of the ship, beneath the forecastle head. It was 
 a gloomy cavern; the bright day of outdoors was 
 a muddy light within. 
 
 Well, in the floor of the port foc sle, wherein I 
 was sitting, was the hatch to the forepeak, below. 
 It was this yard square trap-door which caused my 
 agitation. My glance fell casually upon it, and I 
 
82 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 saw it move! It lifted a hair s breadth, and I heard 
 a slight scraping sound below. 
 
 Aye, I was startled! A rat? But I knew that 
 even a ship rat did not grow large enough to move 
 a trap-door. The ghost of some dead sailorman, 
 haunting the scene of his earthly misery? Well, 
 I had the superstitions of a foc sle Jack, but I 
 knew well enough that a proper ghost would not 
 walk abroad in the noon o day. I stared fas 
 cinated at that 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 was oversweeping me; and then, 
 just as I was about to speak, Bucko Lynch s voice 
 came booming into my retreat. 
 
 "Hey, you ! D you reckon to spell-o the whole 
 afternoon? If you ve finished your scouse, out 
 on deck with you and lively about it!" 
 
 There was no denying that request, eye or no 
 eye. And at the second mate s first word, the trap 
 door dropped shut. I clattered out of the foc sle, and 
 to work; but I was turning that little matter of the 
 f orepeak hatch over in my mind, you bet ! 
 
 It was near dusk, well on in the first dog-watch, 
 when the mates let up with their driving, and herded 
 all hands aft to the main deck. The forepeak hatch 
 had rested heavily upon my mind all afternoon, and 
 I was tingling with excitement when I went aft with 
 the rest to face the ceremony which always con- 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 83 
 
 eludes the first day out, the choosing and setting 
 of the watches, and the calling of the muster roll. 
 Something unexpected was about to happen, I felt 
 sure. 
 
 We were a sorry looking crowd gathered there 
 on the main deck, before the cabin, a tatterdemalion 
 mob, with bruised bodies and sullen faces, and with 
 hate and fright in our glowering eyes. Those few 
 of us who were seamen possessed a bitter knowledge 
 of the cruel months ahead, the rest, the majority, 
 faced a fate all the more dreadful for being dimly 
 perceived, and of which they had received a fierce 
 foretaste that merciless day. 
 
 Captain Swope came to the break of the poop, 
 lounged over the rail, and looked us over. In his 
 hand he held the ship s articles. He regarded us 
 with a sort of wicked satisfaction, seeming to draw 
 delight from the sight of our huddled, miserable 
 forms. Without saying a word, he gloated over 
 us, over the puffed face of the Cockney, over the 
 expression of desperate horror in the face of the 
 red-shirted man, over the abject figure of the little 
 squarehead, who had been going about all after 
 noon sobbing, with his hand pressed to his side, 
 and whose face 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 the 
 sight of our suffering; and we glared back at him, 
 hating and afraid. 
 
 Then the lady appeared at the poop rail, some 
 
84 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 paces distant from the Old Man. It was hearten 
 ing to turn one s eyes from the Old Man s wicked, 
 sneering face to the face of the lady. There was 
 sorrow in that brooding look she gave us, and pity, 
 and understanding. She was used to looking upon 
 the man-made misery of men, you felt, and skilled 
 in softening it. There was a stir in our ranks as 
 we met her gaze, a half audible murmur ran down 
 the line, and the slackest of us straightened our 
 shoulders a trifle. The Old Man sensed the sudden 
 cheer amongst us, and, I think, sensed its cause, for 
 without glancing at 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 secret delight he passed me by. 
 "Where s the nigger?" he said, referring to the 
 mulatto, who was at the wheel. "The wheel? 
 Well, he s my meat." 
 
 So the watch choosing began. Lynch promptly 
 chose me, as he had promised he would, and I 
 stepped over to the starboard deck. Fitzgibbon 
 chose the Cockney, Lynch picked a squarehead so 
 the alternate choosing went, the mates skilled eyes 
 first selecting all those who showed in their appear 
 ance some evidence of sailorly experience. 
 
 "You I" said Fitzgibbon, indicating the red- 
 shirted man, and motioning him over to the port 
 side of the deck. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 85 
 
 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. "Cap 
 tain, may I speak to you now?" he asked, in a 
 shrill, excited voice. 
 
 "Eh, what s this?" exclaimed Swope, gazing 
 down at the fellow. He lifted his hand and checked 
 the mate, who was already about to collar his prey. 
 I think Swope knew just what was coming, and he 
 found sport in 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 mis 
 take foully mistreated, all of these men foully 
 mistreated by your officers tried to see you and 
 was beaten. . . ." With an effort he made his 
 speech more coherent. "A terrible mistake, sir I 
 I have been kidnapped on board this vessel! I am 
 not a sailor, I do not know how I come to be here 
 I have been kidnapped, s?r!" 
 
 "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 you 
 were er kidnapped, as you call it, in company 
 with the wharf-rats behind you." 
 
 "But, Captain good heavens, you do not under 
 stand!" cried the man. "I am a clergyman a 
 minister of the Gospel I I am the Reverend Richard 
 Deaken of the Bethel Mission in San Francisco!" 
 
 The Reverend Richard Deaken! I saw a light. 
 
86 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 I had heard of the Reverend Deaken while I was 
 in the Swede s house. The labors of this particular 
 sky-pilot were, it appeared, particularly offensive 
 to crimpdom. 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 the 
 simple and effective methods the boarding masters 
 used to separate Jack from his money, and then 
 barter his carcass to the highest bidder. I had 
 heard the Swede, himself, say, "Ay ban got him 
 before election!" And this is how the reverend 
 gentleman had been "got" crimped into an out 
 ward bound windjammer, with naught but a ragged 
 red shirt and a pair of dungaree pants to cover his 
 nakedness; and he found, when he made his dis 
 closure of identity, that the high place of authority 
 was occupied 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 laughed loudly. "Ho, ho, ho! 
 D ye hear that, Misters? The Swede has given 
 us a sky-pilot a damned Holy Joe! By God, a 
 Holy Joe on the Golden Bough! 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 an ordinary stiff to me ! Let me see 
 what did you call yourself? Deaken?" He 
 lifted the articles, and scanned the names that rep 
 resented the crew. "Deaken hey! Well, I see 
 no such name written here." I did not doubt that. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 87 
 
 Save my name, and Newman s, I doubted if any 
 name on the articles could be recognized by any 
 man present. "I see one name kere, written in just 
 such a flourishing hand as a man of your parts 
 might possess Montgomery Mulvaney. That 
 is undoubtedly you; you are Montgomery Mul 
 vaney!" 
 
 "But, Captain " commenced the parson, des 
 perately. 
 
 "Shut up 1" snapped Swope. "Now, listen here, 
 my man I You may be a Holy Joe ashore, or you 
 may not be, that does not concern me. But I find 
 you on board my vessel, signed on my articles as 
 Montgomery Mulvaney, A.B. Yet you tell me 
 yourself you are no sailor. Well, my fancy man, 
 Holy Joe you may be, stiff you are, but you ll be 
 a sailor before this passage ends, or I m not Angus 
 Swope ! Now then, step over there to port, and 
 join your watch!" 
 
 "But, Captain " commenced the desperate man 
 again. Then he evidently saw the futility of appeal 
 ing to Captain Swope. Abruptly, he turned and 
 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 the futility 
 of argument, and the danger to the one who argued. 
 Indeed, even while she spoke, the mate took the 
 
88 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 parson by his shirt collar, and jerked him roughly 
 into his place. And there he stood, by the Cock 
 ney s side, wearing an air of bewildered dismay 
 both comic and tragic. 
 
 The mates renewed their choosing, and in a few 
 more moments we were all gathered in two groups, 
 regarding each other across the empty deck. There 
 were fifteen men in the mate s watch, but, because 
 of Newman s absence, 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 you don t 
 recognize your names, answer anyway or we ll 
 baptize you anew!" 
 
 Lynch held the papers before his face. I 
 thrilled with a sudden expectancy. Something 
 startling was going to happen, I felt it in my bones. 
 Some clairvoyant gleam told me the forepeak hatch 
 was wide open now. 
 
 "Answer to your names 1" 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 came 
 abreast 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 the man s dramatic arrival had 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 89 
 
 placed upon all hands. She broke it with a kind 
 of strangled gasp. "Roy it is Roy oh, God!" 
 she said, and she swayed, and clutched the rail 
 before her as though to keep from falling. She 
 stared down at Newman as if he were a ghost from 
 the grave. 
 
 But it was the manner of Captain Swope which 
 commanded the attention of all hands. He was 
 seeing a ghost, too, an evil ghost. It was like 
 foc sle belief come true this man had sold his 
 soul to the Devil, and the Devil was suddenly come 
 to claim his own. He, too, stared down at New 
 man, and clutched the rail for support, while the 
 flesh of his face became a livid hue, and his expres 
 sion 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 I 
 come just now from your forepeak a most unpleas 
 ant, filthy hole, Angus! And less recently, I come 
 from my grave, from that shameful grave 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 your articles I am A. Newman. 7 An apt 
 name, a true name eh, Angus? Come now, are 
 you not glad to see me?" 
 
 It was unprecedented, that occurrence. A fore 
 mast hand badgering the captain on his own poop 
 
90 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 deck; badgering Yankee Swope of the Golden 
 Bough, whilst his two trusty buckos stood by inac 
 tive and gaping. But, as I explained, there was an 
 air about Newman that said "Hands off!" It was 
 not so much his huge, muscular body; there was 
 something in the spirit of t{i< man that was respect- 
 compelling; something lethal, a half-hidden, over 
 powering menace; something that overawed. He 
 was no foc sle Jack, no commonplace hard case; as 
 he stood there alone, he had the bearing of a man 
 who commanded large ships, who directed great 
 affairs. And his bearing held inactive and over 
 awed those two fighting mates, while he mocked 
 their god, Swope. 
 
 And Swope ! The man became craven before 
 Newman s upturned gaze. He was palsied with 
 fear, stark fear. I saw the sweat beads glistening on 
 his brow. He lifted a shaking hand and wiped them 
 off. Then he suddenly turned and strode aft, out 
 of our view, without a parting word to the mates, 
 without even the time honored, "Below, the watch." 
 In the quiet that was over us, we heard his foot 
 steps as he walked aft. They were uncertain, like 
 the footsteps of a drunken man. We heard them 
 descend to the cabin. 
 
 Newman turned his gaze upon the lady. She 
 stood there, clutching the rail. Her body seemed 
 frozen into the attitude. But her face was 
 alive. 
 
 Yes, alive and not with fear or horror. There 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 91 
 
 was a delight beyond the powers of description 
 shining in her face. There was incredulity, with 
 glad conviction overcoming it. Her eyes glowed. 
 Her heart was in her eyes as she looked at Newman. 
 
 Newman spoke, and his voice was rich and sweet, 
 all its harsh menace g#he. 
 
 "I have come, Mary," says he. 
 
 She did not reply with words. But they looked 
 at each other, those two, and although there were 
 no more words, yet we gained the impression they 
 were communing. Men and mates, we gaped, 
 curious and tongue-tied. This was something quite 
 beyond us, outside our experience. Bully Fitzgib- 
 bon, across the deck from me, pulled wildly at his 
 mustache, and every movement of his fingers be 
 trayed his bewilderment. 
 
 For what seemed a long time the man and the 
 woman stood silent, regarding each other. The 
 dusk, which had been gathering, crept upon us. The 
 lady s face lost its clear outline, and became 
 shadowy. Suddenly she turned and flitted aft. We 
 listened to her light footsteps descending to the 
 cabin, as, a short while before, we had listened to 
 the Old Man s. 
 
 When sound of her had ceased, Newman, with 
 out being bidden, stepped to the starboard side and 
 fell into line beside me. 
 
 The mate finally broke the awkward silence. 
 Lack of the usual sting from his voice showed how 
 the scene had shaken him. 
 
92 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Well carry on, Mister!" he said to Lynch. 
 "Finish the mustering." 
 
 The second mate read off the list of names. 
 With the single exception of myself, not a man 
 responded with the usual "Here, sir." Not a man 
 recognized his name among those called; a circum 
 stance not to be wondered at, for the list was 
 doubtless made up of whatever names happened 
 to pop into the Knitting Swede s mind. But the 
 mates did not care about responses. As soon as 
 Lynch was finished, Fitzgibbon commanded shortly, 
 "Relieve wheel and lookout. Go below, the watch." 
 
 We of the starboard watch went below. New 
 man came with us, and he walked as he afterwards 
 walked and worked with us, a man apart. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A MAN apart Newman was. We instinctively 
 recognized that fact from the beginning. 
 When we had gained the foc sle, the rage 
 in our hearts found expression in bitter cursing of 
 our luck, the Swede, the ship and the officers. But 
 Newman did not curse, nor did we expect him to. 
 We sensed that he was glad he was at sea in the 
 Golden Bough, that he was there for some peculiar 
 purpose of his own. He was, of course, the domi 
 nant personality in the foc sle, indeed, in the ship. 
 But, strangely enough, we did not look to him for 
 leadership. We regarded him curiously, and with 
 awe and some fear, but we did not look to him 
 to lead the watch. We felt he was not one of us. 
 His business on the ship was not our business, his 
 aim not our aim. 
 
 Because of this aloofness of Newman, I sud 
 denly found myself occupying the proud position 
 of cock of the starboard watch. A foc sle must 
 have its leading spirit, and the cockship is a posi 
 tion much coveted and eagerly striven for in most 
 ships, decided only after combat between the fight 
 ing men of the crew. But the Golden Bough had 
 an extraordinary crew. The majority of the men 
 in my watch were just stiffs, who possessed neither 
 
 93 
 
94 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the experience nor desire to contest for leadership. 
 The few seamen, besides myself and Newman, 
 were squareheads, quiet peasants of Scandinavia 
 and Germany, who felt lost and unhappy without 
 somebody always at hand to order them about. 
 
 So, within half an hour after going below for that 
 first time, I found myself giving orders to men and 
 being obeyed. They were the first orders I had 
 ever given, and, oh, they were sweet in my mouth ! 
 Think of it, my last ship I had been ordered about 
 by the foc sle cock. I had gone to the galley at com 
 mand and fetched the watch s food. Now, scant 
 days after, I, a fledgling able seaman, was lording it 
 over the foc sle of the hottest ship on the high seas, 
 and ordering another man to go after the supper. 
 And he went. I think I grew an inch during that 
 dog-watch; I know my voice gained a mature note 
 it lacked before. 
 
 I was a true son of the foc sle, you must under 
 stand, with the habits and outlook of a barbarian. 
 This leadership I so casually assumed may appear 
 a petty thing, but it was actually the greatest thing 
 that happened to me since birth. This little savage 
 authority I commenced to exercise over my com 
 panions by virtue of the threat of my fists, was my 
 first taste of power. It awakened in me the driving 
 instinct, the desire to lead, and eventually placed 
 me in command of ships; it also gave me my first 
 sense of responsibility, without which there can be 
 no leadership. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 95 
 
 During the supper, and after, I found myself 
 watching and studying my companions. For I 
 feared that my youth might later cause someone 
 to question my cockship, and I meant to fight for it 
 in that event. But my scrutiny satisfied my natural 
 confidence. There was no man in my watch I could 
 not handle in either a rough-and-tumble or stand-up 
 go, I thought, with the exception of Newman. He 
 would not interfere with me his interest lay aft, 
 in the cabin, not in the foc sle. In the port watch 
 were two fighting men, my eyes had told me, the 
 Cockney and the Nigger. If they disputed my will 
 in foc sle affairs, I was still confident I should prove 
 the best man. I felt my tenure of office was secure, 
 and that new, delicious feeling of power quite 
 effaced, for the moment, the memory of the day, 
 and reconciled me to the ship. 
 
 This scrutiny I gave my companions was the 
 first chance I had to fairly size them up, and I after 
 wards discovered that my first impressions of them, 
 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 
 tirty were of that class known to sailors as "stiffs." 
 This is, they were greenhorns masquerading on the 
 articles as able seamen. And such stiffs! The 
 Knitting Swede must have combed the jails, and 
 stews, and boozing kens of all San Francisco to as 
 semble that unsavory mob. 
 
 In my watch, Newman, myself, and four square- 
 
96 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 heads could be called seamen. But the squareheads 
 knew not a dozen words of English between them. 
 The other nine were stiffs, various kinds of stiffs, 
 broken men all, with the weaknesses of dissolute 
 living stamped upon their inefficient faces. 
 
 Except two men. These two were stiffs right 
 enough, and their faces were evil, God knows, but 
 they plainly were not to be classed as weaklings. 
 I noticed them particularly that first watch below 
 because they sat apart from the wrangling, cursing 
 gang, and whispered to each other, and stared at 
 Newman, who was lying in his bunk. 
 
 They were medium sized men, as pallid of face 
 as Newman, himself, and their faces gave one the 
 impression of both slyness and force. A grim look 
 ing pair; I should not have cared to run afoul of 
 them on the Barbary Coast after midnight. I 
 already knew the names they called each other the 
 only names I ever knew them by "Boston," for the 
 blond fellow with the bridge of his nose flattened, 
 and "Blackie" for the other, a chap as swarthy as 
 a dago, with long, oily black hair, and eyes too close 
 together. 
 
 Even as I watched, they seemed to arrive at some 
 decision in their whispered conversation. Blackie 
 got up from the bench and crossed over to New 
 man s bunk. The latter was lying with his face 
 to the wall. Blackie placed his hand upon New 
 man s shoulder, leaned over, and whispered into 
 his ear. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 97 
 
 I saw Newman straighten out his long body. For 
 an instant he lay tense, then he slowly turned his 
 head and faced the man who leaned over him. On 
 his face was the same expression of deadly menace 
 he had shown the Cockney, back in the Swede s 
 barroom. 
 
 Blackie could not withstand that deadly gaze. 
 He backed hurriedly away, and sat down beside his 
 mate. Then Newman spoke in low, measured tones, 
 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 your mouths shut, and work, and 
 play none of your deviltries in this ship unless I 
 give the word. Otherwise " The great scar on 
 his forehead was blue and twitching, and his voice 
 was deadly earnest. He did a thing so expressive 
 it made me shudder. He lifted his hand, and care 
 lessly placed his forefinger on the outer side of his 
 bunk, and when he lifted it, two of the myriad cock 
 roaches that infested the foc sle were mashed flat 
 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 though about to 
 speak. But, at the instant, Lynch s booming voice 
 came into- the foc sle, calling the watch on deck, and 
 putting an abrupt end to the scene. 
 
 There was an immediate scramble for the exit 
 
98 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 to the deck. Aye, the mates had put the fear of 
 the Lord and themselves into us, and we were 
 all eager to show how willing we were! But I 
 heard Fitzgibbon without, as well as Lynch, and, 
 from the gossip I had heard at the Swede s, I sus 
 pected the foc sle was about to be introduced to the 
 orthodox hell-ship manner of turning to the watch. 
 Both mates would meet us coming up, and the first 
 man on deck would get a clout for not being sooner, 
 and the last man a boot for being a laggard. 
 
 So I held back, and allowed another the honor 
 of being first through the door. 
 
 This honor was seized by none other than 
 Blackie. I suppose he was anxious to escape from 
 Newman s disturbing gaze; anyhow, at the second 
 mate s first summons, he bounded from the bench, 
 and tumbled through the door. I followed imme 
 diately after, and saw my suspicions confirmed. 
 
 Mister Fitz was holding a lantern, and Mister 
 Lynch had his hands free for business. He met 
 Blackie s egress with a careless jab of his fist that 
 up-ended the unfortunate stiff, and the injunction, 
 "Hearty, now, you swabs I Lay aftl" 
 
 I quickly sidestepped out of the second mate s 
 range, in case he should aim a blow at me, and 
 started to obey the command to lay aft. But I 
 had taken but a step when I was arrested by 
 Blackie s action. 
 
 Instead of adopting the sensible course of meek 
 ness under insult, Blackie rebounded from the deck 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 99 
 
 and flew at Lynch. In the light cast by Mister 
 Fitz s lantern, I saw the gleam of a knife blade in 
 Blackie s hand. I suppose the anger that Newman s 
 words had raised exploded beneath Lynch s blow, 
 and caused his mad rashness. 
 
 But Bully Lynch made nothing of the assault. 
 "Ah, would you!" I heard him say as Blackie closed 
 with him, and then the knife-hand went up in the air, 
 and the weapon fell upon the deck. "I ll teach you !" 
 said Lynch, and he commenced to shower blows 
 upon the man. Blackie screamed curses, and fought 
 back futilely. Lynch commented in a monotone 
 with each of his thudding blows, "Take that that 
 that." Soon he knocked Blackie cold, across the 
 forehatch. Then he turned to us who were clustered 
 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 till midnight. I came panting 
 and sweating to the task, keenly relishing the 
 chance of resting. For there was to be no "farm 
 ing" away the night watches in the Golden Bough; 
 the second mate had kept us upon the dead run 
 from one job to another, and I sensed this was the 
 routine of the ship. 
 
 It was a fine, clean smelling night of moon and 
 stars, and brisk breeze. The wind had freshened 
 since day, and the vessel was stepping out 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 time to think, 
 and receive impressions, as I half lounged at the 
 wheel. The round moon brightened the world, 
 the west pyramids of canvas above me bellied taut, 
 the cordage wrung a stirring whistle from the 
 wind, the silver spray cascaded on the weather deck. 
 I watched the scene with delight, drank in the living 
 beauty of that ship, and felt the witchery the Golden 
 Bough practiced upon sailors minds steal over and 
 possess me. Aye, she was a ship ! I was soon to 
 curse my masters, and the very day I was born, 
 but never, after that night, did I curse the ship. 
 
 100 
 
THE BLOOD SH(P 101 
 
 I loved 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 to the gossip I had heard at 
 the Knitting Swede s, this eight to twelve watch 
 was Yankee Swope s favorite prowling time. But 
 he did not appear; indeed, he had not shown him 
 self since he had so ignominiously surrendered the 
 deck to Newman. I was not disappointed. I 
 shouldn t have cared if he remained below the 
 entire voyage. 
 
 But I did see the lady that watch. When Mister 
 Lynch, and his familiars (of whom more anon), 
 had gone forward to a job, she suddenly stepped 
 out of the companion hatch and flitted aft towards 
 me. Then, when she was close enough to discern 
 my features by the reflection from the binnacle 
 lights, she stopped. I heard a sort of gasping sigh 
 that meant, I knew, disappointment, and she moved 
 over to the rail, and stood staring at the sea. 
 
 I knew what was wrong. She had, in the dark 
 ness, mistaken my very respectable bulk for New 
 man s gigantic body. She had expected to find 
 Newman 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 it thrilled 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 
 
102 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 of passion for her beauty, though she was fair 
 enough, in all faith, as she stood there in the moon 
 light. It was something bigger, something deeper, 
 a wave of sympathy and pity that surged through 
 my being, a feeling I had never 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 the very beasts of the field might 
 have pitied the wife of Yankee Swope. 
 
 Her body seemed so slender and childlike. Too 
 fine and dainty to hold the 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 caused her to forget my presence, for she 
 suddenly buried her face in her hands, and her 
 shoulders commenced to heave. It stabbed me to 
 the quick, the sight of that noiseless grief. My eye 
 lids smarted, and my throat bulged uncomfortably. 
 What was her trouble ? Swope ? Had he hurt her ? 
 Was the talk I had heard at the Swede s correct, did 
 that black 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 him to see her weeping, and 
 since she did not seem to hear the approach, I called 
 softly to her, "Lady! They come!" 
 
 She straightened, and, after a second, came 
 swiftly to me. She bent her face within the narrow 
 radius of the binnacle lights, and her eyes looked 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 103 
 
 straight into mine. Aye, and the misery and suffer 
 ing I saw in those great eyes! 
 
 "God bless you, boy," she whispered. "You are 
 his friend? Tell him I come forward in the morn 
 ing. Tell him for my sake as he loves his life 
 to look behind him when he walks in the dark!" 
 
 With that she turned and sped to the hatch, 
 and was gone below. And up the poop ladder 
 tramped Lynch, with the two tradesmen following 
 him. 
 
 I have mentioned these two familiars of the 
 second mate before, and I had better explain them. 
 
 The Golden Bough carried neither junior officers, 
 nor bo suns, an unusual circumstance, considering 
 the size and character of her crews. Instead, she 
 carried two sailmakers and two carpenters, and 
 these tradesmen lived by themselves in the round 
 house, ate aft at a special table, and, save when 
 emergency work prevented, stood watch and watch. 
 They stood their night watches aft, with the officer 
 on deck. This arrangement unique in all my sea 
 experience provided three men, awake, armed 
 and handy, throughout the night. It worried us 
 a good deal, 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 for many nights. Nothing was 
 further from my thoughts. Mutiny is a serious 
 business, a hanging business, the business of scoun 
 drels, or the last resort of desperate men. I knew 
 
104 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the consequences of mutiny, so did the others, 
 squareheads and stiffs, and we had not been suffi 
 ciently maltreated to make us ripe for such an 
 undertaking. 
 
 But there was mutiny in the air on the Golden 
 Bough from that very first day of the voyage. I 
 was soon to learn that there was plenty of rebellious 
 spirit forward, and shrewd, daring fellows eager to 
 lead, because of piratical greed. Also, she was a 
 .hell-ship. It was part of a hell-ship s routine to 
 thump the crew to the raw edge of mutiny, and 
 keep them there. 
 
 You must understand the Golden Bough, and to 
 understand her you must understand the knock- 
 down-and-drag-out system in vogue on board a good 
 many American ships of that day, and later. A hell- 
 ship was not just the result of senseless brutality on 
 the part of the officers. She was the product of a 
 system. The captain rode high in his owner s 
 esteem when he could point to the golden results 
 of his stern rule at sea; the bucko mates were spe 
 cifically hired to haze the crew, and drew extra 
 large pay for the job. 
 
 It was, of course, a matter of dollars. If the 
 owners did not have to pay wages to the crew, they 
 would save money, wouldn t they? I suppose some 
 sleek-jowled, comfortable pillar of church and 
 society first thought of it, and whispered it into his 
 skipper s ear. And the skipper whispered it to his 
 mates, and they made that ship so hot the crew 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 105 
 
 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 any of this 
 wage until the voyage was completed, until the ves 
 sel returned to an American port. Think of the 
 saving to the owners if we deserted in Hong Kong. 
 They would have no labor bill, practically, for work 
 ing the ship from America to China, no labor bill 
 during the months ere she was ready for sea again. 
 Then when ready to leave Hong Kong, Swope would 
 ship a new crew, haze them as we were being hazed, 
 and they would clear out at the next port. 
 
 That system worked. It was a money saver, and 
 lasted till the ascendency 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 old windjammer skippers 
 could swap yarns with these factory experts of 
 to-day, I tell you! 
 
 Of course, not all American ships, or even a 
 majority of them, adopted this system. But enough 
 did to give American ships an evil name among 
 sailors that has endured to the present day. 
 
 And this evil name helped sustain the system. It 
 completed a kind of vicious circle. The crew ran 
 away from the hell-ship, and spread the evil fame 
 of the vessel over the five oceans. Sailors then 
 
106 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 would not willing ship in her save, of course, a 
 few adventuresome young fools, like myself, who 
 sought glory and the skipper found himself put 
 ting to sea with a mob of stiffs in his foc sle. 
 
 Often he had trouble getting stiffs. In some 
 ports, where the crimping system was not developed, 
 the hell ship waited for months for a crew. In 
 other ports, like San Francisco, where the board 
 ing master s will was the law of sailortown, the 
 captain paid over his blood money, and the board 
 ing master delivered him his crew, drunk, drugged 
 and sandbagged. When he got to sea he would 
 find his crew composed chiefly of the very scum of 
 the waterside, a mode of unlicked, lawless ruffians, 
 and his bucko mates would need all their prowess 
 to keep them subordinate. 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 mates usually contented themselves with 
 working the men at top speed, depriving them of 
 their afternoon watches below, and thumping the 
 stiffs, because they were lubberly at their work. 
 This treatment was sufficiently severe to produce 
 the desired results. This was normal hell-ship 
 style. The few sailors, in the crew, providing they 
 were willing, rarely received more than verbal 
 abuse. 
 
 Now, brutality feeds upon itself. Some officers, 
 after living under the system for a time, became 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 107 
 
 perfect fiends. They came to enjoy beating up men. 
 In some ships, the dressing down of the crew was 
 a continuous performance, and sailors, as well as 
 stiffs, caught it. 
 
 As in the Golden Bough. God s truth, there was 
 blood spilt every watch! Always, after the first 
 day out, did the foc sle bunks contain a miserable 
 wretch or two laid up because of a manhandling. 
 
 Yet we of the starboard watch were compara 
 tively lucky. Mister Lynch, our officer, was what 
 I may call a normal bucko. He hazed for the 
 results rather than for the pleasure of hazing, 
 though I think he did get some satisfaction out of 
 thumping the men. You feel a fine thrill when you 
 see a half dozen huskies cringe away before you 
 with fear in their eyes. I imagine it is the same 
 thrill a wild animal tamer feels as he faces his 
 beasts. I felt this fascinating sensation many 
 times after I had become a mate of ships. Lynch 
 had no mercy on the stiffs of our watch; he ham 
 mered the rudiments of seamanship into them with 
 astonishing speed. He cuffed a knowledge of Eng 
 lish into the squareheads. But he kept his hands 
 off Newman and me, not because he was afraid of 
 us I don t think Lynch feared anything but 
 because we knew 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, and sailors and stiffs alike 
 
108 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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. I don t think Lynch ever bothered 
 to carry a gun in the daytime. Fitzgibbon never 
 stirred on deck without a deadly bulge in his coat 
 pocket. Lynch stalked among us by night or day, 
 alone, and unafraid. After dark, the mate never 
 stirred from the poop unless Sails and Chips were 
 at his heels. Lynch was a bluff, hard man; Fitz 
 gibbon was a cruel, sly beast. 
 
 And Swope ! Well, I cannot explain or judge 
 his character. It would take a medical man to do 
 that, I think. He was his two mates rolled into 
 one, plus brains. He had fed a certain strong Sa 
 distic element in his nature until inflicting pain upon 
 others had become his chief passion. I can imagine 
 his perverted soul living in former lives as a 
 Familiar of the Inquisition, or the red-clad torturer 
 of some medieval prince. 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 the characters of bucko 
 mates, during the balance of that trick at the wheel. 
 The lady s message to Newman possessed my mind. 
 
 When I went forward at eight bells, I imme 
 diately called Newman aside, and delivered her 
 words. He listened in silence, and his face grew 
 soft. He squeezed my hand, and whispered some 
 what brokenly, "Thank you, Jack" an exhibition 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 109 
 
 of emotion that startled as much as it pleased 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 features hardened 
 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 
 awav towards my bunk. But at that he reached 
 out a detaining hand. 
 
 "You are a big man, Shreve," he said. "Not such 
 a difference in our sizes but that a man might mis 
 take us after dark. Keep your weather eye 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 min 
 istrations. Quite half the crew needed salves 
 and bandages for their bruises and cuts, and there 
 was, besides, a more serious case demanding atten 
 tion. 
 
 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 that the 
 little squarehead the lad Swope had manhandled 
 had again fallen afoul the masters. The hurts 
 Swope had inflicted prevented the boy moving 
 about as quickly as Mister Fitgibbon desired, so 
 the bucko had laid him out and walked upon him 
 during the mid-watch. When he was through, the 
 lad had crawled on his hands and knees into the 
 foc sle, and collapsed. 
 
 By eight o clock in the morning, when the star 
 board watch went below again, we found the poor 
 chap daft, and babbling, and on fire with fever. 
 The mate gave up his efforts to arouse him, and 
 admitted to Lynch that "the damn little stock fish 
 is a bit off color. Needs a dose o black draught." 
 
 After breakfast, Newman and I stepped into the 
 port foc sle. The squareheads of our watch were 
 
 no 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 111 
 
 already there, sitting gloomily about, or clumsily 
 attempting to make the injured youth more com 
 fortable. 
 
 He looked bad, no mistake. Newman shook 
 his head, gravely, as we turned away. 
 
 "It is a task for her," he said to me. "She has 
 the healing gift. The boy is badly hurt." 
 
 A growled curse took my answer from me. It 
 came from one of the squareheads, from Lind- 
 quist, a sober, bearded, middle-aged man, the one 
 man 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 bespoke puzzled wrath. It was evi 
 dent his slow moving peasant s mind was grappling 
 with the bloody fact of a hell-ship. It was some 
 thing new in his experience. He was trying to 
 fathom it. Why were he and his mates thumped, 
 when they willingly did their work? What for? 
 "Nils iss goot boy," he said to us. "So hard he 
 vork, ja" Then he bent over the bunk and 
 resumed the application of his old folk remedy, the 
 placing of wetted woolen socks upon Nils fore 
 head. 
 
 Before the foc sle door, we found our mob of 
 stiffs, nursing their hurts, 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 
 
112 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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, as sympathy. Bruises and lacera 
 tions, so long as they didn t keep a man off his feet, 
 were lightly regarded in that tough crowd. But the 
 lady s sweet, sane being was a light in the pall of 
 brutality that hung over the ship. She was some 
 thing more than woman, or doctor, to those men; 
 in her they saw the upper world they had lost, the 
 fineness of life they had never attained. They had 
 all felt the heartening influence of her presence 
 at the muster; they craved for it now as thirsty men 
 crave for water. They were men in hell, and 
 through the lady they had a vision of heaven. 
 
 Two bells went, and then three, and the lady did 
 not come. At last Wong, the Chinese steward, 
 came forward. 
 
 "All slick man go aft," says he. "Lady flix urn." 
 
 "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 with liquid. 
 
 "Dosey. Mlissa Mate, him say give slick man 
 inside," and he pointed into the foc sle. 
 
 Newman ripped out an oath. "Give it here. A 
 bonesetter, not a dose of physic is needed in there." 
 
 He reached out his hand, and Wong obediently 
 surrendered the glass. He surrendered something 
 else. I was standing by Newman s side, and saw 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 113 
 
 the piece of paper that passed into his hand with 
 the tumbler. 
 
 Newman s face remained as impassive as the 
 Chinaman s own. He sniffed of the draught, made 
 a wry face and tossed it, glass and all, over the side 
 into the sea. Then he turned on his heel and went 
 into the foc 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 in pencil. But the handwriting was 
 dainty and feminine. It was from the lady, plainly 
 enough, even though no name was signed. 
 
 "We have quarreled, and he has forbidden me to 
 leave the cabin, or go forward this voyage. He is 
 drinking, he is desperate oh, Roy, be careful, he is 
 capable of anything. I know him now. Do not 
 come aft with the sick" 
 
 I looked at Newman inquiringly. But he said 
 nothing to supplement the note. He took it from 
 me, lighted a match, and burned it up. I guessed 
 he was disappointed, that he had counted upon the 
 lady coming forward. 
 
 "And did the little dear write ? And what did she 
 say," drawled an unpleasant voice behind us. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 I swung about with a start, and saw Boston and 
 Blackie lying in their bunks, one above the other. 
 Boston had spoken, but they were both eyeing 
 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 a wheedling note in his 
 voice. 
 
 u Aw, say, Big Un, don t get horstile. We didn t 
 mean to horn in. We just want to be friends; we 
 feel hurt, Blackie an me, at the way you 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 figured out, but we need 
 you to lead, Big Un. What d ye want to pal with 
 that cub for, when two old friends like Blackie an 
 me are ready and willing to 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," per 
 sisted Boston. "He s a game un." 
 
 Blackie, the hot-headed, spoke up, resentfully. 
 He lifted his battered face on his elbow, and lisped 
 through the gap Lynch s fist had made in his teeth. 
 "Number seven hundred and three wasn t so finicky 
 about his pals the time he jumped the dead line, and 
 ditched the Big House!" 
 
 Newman crossed the foc sle with one catlike 
 bound. He got Blackie by the throat and yanked 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 115 
 
 him from the bunk. Then he shook him, and threw 
 him into the farther corner. 
 
 "There will be no scheme set on foot from this 
 foc sle, save the one I father," he told the pair in 
 his cool, level voice. "I gave you your answer 
 last night. Now, if you two come between me and 
 my goal, in this 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 the suf 
 ferer. It was an exhibition of practiced skill. The 
 feeling was strong on me that moment that New 
 man had gained this skill in no foc 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 for the lad. Newman undressed 
 him the squareheads had not been able to accom 
 plish this feat, because of the pain their rough hand 
 ling caused and bared the poor broken body to 
 view. The squareheads cursed deeply and bitterly 
 at the sight of the shocking bruises on the white 
 flesh. Nils was delirious, staring up at us with bril 
 liant, unseeing eyes, and babbling in his own lingo. 
 
116 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "He say, mudder, mudder," commented Lindquist 
 in a choked voice. "I know his mudder." 
 
 Newman explored the hurts with his finger, and 
 his gentle touch brought gasps of agony. His face 
 grew very grave. Then he ripped up a blanket, 
 and with my assistance, skillfully bandaged Nils 
 about the body. 
 
 When he was through, he looked Lindquist in 
 the eyes, and shook his head. 
 
 "So?" said Lindquist. His eyes, so stupid and 
 dull a while before, were blazing now. Aye, it was 
 evident his law-abiding mind had arrived at a law 
 less decision; his lowering face boded no good for 
 the brute who had maltreated his young friend. 
 "Gott, if he die!" he said. It was a full-mouthed 
 promise to avenge, that sentence. 
 
 As we left, I became aware that Boston and 
 Blackie had followed Newman and me, and had 
 witnessed the scene. Said Boston to his mate, in 
 a low voice 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 he was drinking, when, every morning 
 the Chinese cabin boy brought empty bottles out 
 on deck and heaved them overboard. Whereat, 
 all the thirsty souls forward clicked their tongues 
 and swore. 
 
 But this interim, during which Yankee Swope 
 stayed below, and moped and drank, 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 or not the skipper s eyes were upon 
 them. There was bloody, knock-about work with 
 belaying pin and knuckles, while the ship settled 
 down into deep sea form, and the mob of stiffs 
 learned to keep out of its own way and hand the 
 right rope when yelled at. 
 
 . Since leaving port, the Golden Bough had been 
 standing a southerly course, on a port tack. Now, 
 on the third day, the wind hauled around aft, and 
 came on us from the nor east, as a freshening gale. 
 We squared away, and went booming down before 
 it, true clipper style. By nightfall it was blowing 
 hard, and the kites were doused. 
 
 117 
 
118 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 The night came down black as coal tar, with an 
 overcast sky, and lightning playing through the 
 cloud in frequent, blinding flashes. My watch had 
 the deck from eight to twelve, and Mister Lynch 
 (and his satellites, Chips and Sails) kept us hustling 
 fore and aft, sweating sheets, and taking a heave 
 at this and that. 
 
 Few watches in my life stand out so sharply in 
 my memory. And it was not the near tragedy that 
 concluded it that so impressed my mind; it was 
 the sailing. For Lynch was cracking on, and there 
 was no faint-hearted skipper interfering with his 
 game. Indeed, had Swope been on deck before the 
 hour when he did come up, I do not think he would 
 have protested. This reckless sailing was what 
 made half the fame of the Golden Bough. It was 
 said that Yankee Swope sailed around Cape Stiff 
 with padlocks on his topsail sheets ! And this night 
 we showed the gale the full spread of her three 
 t gan s ls, and the ship raced before the wind like 
 a frightened stag. 
 
 Oh, I had seen sailing before. I had been in 
 smart ships, had run my Easting down in southern 
 waters more than once, had made the eastern pas 
 sage of the Western Ocean with the winter storm 
 on my back the whole distance. But this night was 
 my introduction to the clipper style, where the offi 
 cers banked fifty per cent on their seamanship, to 
 avert disaster, and fifty per cent on blind chance 
 that the top hamper would stand the strain. An 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 119 
 
 incautious system? Aye, but cautious men did not 
 sail those ships. 
 
 It was so dark we had to feel our way about the 
 decks. I could not see the upper canvas, but I could 
 imagine it standing out like curved sheet iron. 
 Every moment I expected to hear the explosion of 
 rent canvas, or the rattle of falling gear on the 
 deck. Not I alone thought so, for once when Chips 
 and Sails went to windward of me, I heard Sails 
 bawl to his 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 on without mishap. Indeed, 
 the wind had moderated a bit. 
 
 Throughout the watch I kept close by Newman s 
 side. That warning, to look behind me in the dark, 
 had by no means escaped my mind. When we came 
 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 could not have 
 seen his own mother, stood she two feet distant! 
 
 That warning had puzzled me, and I did not dare 
 question Newman concerning it. He was not the 
 kind of man one could question. But what was 
 likely to lurk in the dark? "Death," said he. Did 
 that mean he feared a stealthy assassination, a 
 knife thrust from the dark? Did he think that 
 
120 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Captain Swope was planning the cold-blooded mur 
 der of an able seaman? 
 
 There was the question. In one way, it opposed 
 my reason. Of course, this was a hell-ship, and mur 
 der might very well take place on board. But that 
 the captain should deliberately plot the removal of 
 a foc sle hand! 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 what his business in the 
 ship, but it was plain he was Swope s enemy, and 
 there was a private fued between them. His mere 
 appearance had caused the Old Man to run below, 
 and remain hidden for three days 1 ... There was 
 the lady. She was Newman s friend. She knew 
 the Old Man s moods, and she was positive about 
 it. The warning was doubtless well founded, I con 
 cluded. And Newman was my friend, my chum 
 for the voyage, I hoped. If there were danger 
 for him in the dark, it were well his friend stayed 
 handy by. So, throughout that black watch, I 
 stuck as close as possible to his elbow. 
 
 Six bells went when the watch was forward at a 
 job. Suddenly, down the wind, came a clear, 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 ls, Mister!" came the command. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 121 
 
 "Eh?" blankly exclaimed Lynch. "Now, what is 
 he up to?" But he yelled back his acknowledg 
 ment, "Reef t ganVls, sir!" 
 
 When the sails were clewed up, Newman and I 
 were ordered aloft on the mizzen. The stiffs were 
 useless aloft on such a night, and the fore and 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 figure lounging 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 mizzen rigging, Newman shouted 
 words in my ear that I knew the wind carried to 
 the 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; one hand 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 leaned into 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 that held this 
 yard steady were made fast. I felt this lofty spot 
 
122 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 was no healthful abiding place for Newman and me. 
 I had a premonition of what was coming! 
 
 Yet, when it did come, I was caught unawares. I 
 felt the wood I leaned on draw suddenly away from 
 me. There came a jerk that nigh snapped my neck. 
 My feet left the foot rope, and I was falling, head 
 foremost, into the blackness. They said I screamed 
 loudly. I was not conscious I opened my mouth. 
 
 It is strange, the trick a thing like that can play 
 -.with one s senses. I seemed to be falling for mo 
 ments, an immeasurable distance. Actually, the 
 whole thing occurred in about a second s space, and 
 my feet just about cleared the yardarm when New 
 man s grip fastened upon my ankle. 
 
 My face was buried in the smothering folds of 
 the threshing sail; then Newman had drawn me up 
 until my body balanced on the yard. A second later 
 my feet were again on the foot rope, and my hands 
 fastened for dear life to the jackstay. 
 
 I was conscious of using my voice then. Aye 
 but I swore ! "By heaven, he let go the port brace 1" 
 I yelled to Newman. 
 
 For answer, Newman grabbed me around the 
 waist, just as a fork of lightning zigzagged through 
 the sky. For the briefest instant, the ship stood out 
 in a bright light. Far below us, on the deck, we saw 
 Captain Swope standing, looking up at us. Then 
 blackness again. I felt myself for a second time 
 jerked clear of my foothold to immediately wrap 
 my limbs about a wire rope. For Newman had 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 123 
 
 leaped for a backstay, as the yard swung close, and 
 carried me with him. 
 
 For a moment we hung there, one above the other, 
 then we commenced to slide to the deck. Mister 
 Lynch s voice came booming up to us, and we saw 
 the light of a lantern bobbing about. A moment 
 later we clattered off the poop, on to the main deck. 
 
 A group was bunched together in the lee of the 
 cabin, Captain Swope, and Lynch and the trades 
 men. Lynch carried the lighted hurricane lamp that 
 hung handy in a sheltered nook during the night. 
 Forward, a respectful distance, the stiffs of the 
 watch made a vague blot in the gloom. As we came 
 down the poop ladder a voice I recognized as Bos 
 ton 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 watch what it had revealed 
 to us. 
 
 "The brace was slipped," said Newman to Lynch. 
 
 "I know," replied the second mate, shortly. There 
 was contempt in his voice, and I knew, when I looked 
 at his grim, disdainful face, that he had had no hand 
 in the affair. Bucko Lynch might kill a man in 
 what he considered the line of duty, but snapping 
 men off a yardarm was not his style. But I also 
 knew that he was an officer of an American ship, 
 and would consider it his duty to back up his cap 
 tain no matter what villainy the latter attempted. 
 
 Swope smiled sweetly at us. One might think that 
 a man, even a ship s autocrat, when detected in an 
 
124 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 attempt at cold-blooded murder, would make some 
 specious explanation of his act. Not Swope. No 
 hypocritical contrition showed in the face the lantern 
 lighted; rather, a cool, pitiless inhumanity that 
 squeezed my bowels, even while rage surged within 
 me. 
 
 We had understood that Swope was drunk for the 
 past three days, but the smiling features showed no 
 mark of his dissipation. Neither did he exhibit any 
 of the fear he had shown at Newman s sudden ap 
 pearance the other afternoon. It was plain that 
 Captain Swope had taken heartening counsel with 
 himself regarding the danger he might incur from 
 Newman s presence on board. Whatever was the 
 mysterious feud between the two, Swope had the up 
 per hand. He rested secure in the knowledge of 
 his power as captain, in his knowledge of Newman s 
 helplessness as a mere foremast hand. 
 
 And so he smiled, and said musingly, and dis 
 tinctly, to Newman, "A miss is as good as a mile, 
 eh? But it is a long passage I" The cool insolence 
 of it I God s truth, it chilled me, this careless con 
 fession of the deed, and threat of what the future 
 held. And then, as though to remove the last pos 
 sible doubt in our minds that the slipping of the brace 
 was an accident, that the whole job of striking sail 
 was but a pretext to get Newman aloft, Swope 
 turned to the second mate. 
 
 "I think she ll stand it, Mister," he said. "You 
 may as well shake out the t gan s ls again!" 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 I WENT below after that watch with the 
 thought of mutiny stirring in the back of my 
 mind. But in the back, not the front, mind 
 you. For mutiny on a ship is a dreadful business, 
 as I, a sailor, well knew. A neck-stretching business I 
 Yet there the thought was, and it stuck, and pecked 
 ever more insistently at my consciousness as the days 
 passed. 
 
 Of course, I was wild with rage at Swope s at 
 tempt. And I was anxious on Newman s account. 
 You see, I looked upon him as my chum, and had 
 he not saved my life, up there, on the yard? It is 
 true, there were none of the usual manifestations of 
 foc sle friendship between us; we did not swap to 
 bacco, and yarns, and oaths. Newman did not per 
 mit such intimacy; always he was a man apart, a 
 marked man. But, from the very first, the man s 
 personality dominated me, and, after that night on 
 the yardarm, I felt a passionate loyalty to him. He 
 was not insensible to my friendliness, I knew; he 
 welcomed it, and found comfort in it. 
 
 If he had come to me that night, or afterwards, 
 with a scheme for taking the ship, I should have 
 joined in straightway, no matter how harebrained it 
 might seem. But, of course, he did no such thing. 
 
 125 
 
126 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Indeed, he never mentioned the incident to me, after 
 we left the deck that night. For all of him, it might 
 never have happened. And, you may be sure, I did 
 not intrude upon his reserve with queries, or reminis 
 cence. 
 
 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, I 
 watched my watchmates that night with more toler 
 ance than my eyes had yet shown them. I wanted 
 to judge what stuff was in them. 
 
 The stiffs whispered together and eyed us fur 
 tively. I did not like the 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 
 along the decks with restraint cast aside, and pas 
 sions unleashed. The squareheads were a different 
 kind. Good men and sailors, here, but men whose 
 habit of life was submission. Yet, I saw they were 
 gravely disturbed by what had taken place on deck. 
 No wonder. I knew their minds. "Who is safe in 
 this ship?" they thought. "Who, now, may go aloft 
 feeling secure he will reach the deck again, alive and 
 unhurt?" Those squareheads had proof of the 
 mate s temper in the person of their young lands 
 man, lying broken in his bunk. Now, they had proof 
 of the skipper s temper. 
 
 My eyes met those of Boston and Blackie, eyeing 
 me speculatively, and the contact brought my mus 
 ing to a sharp turn. What did Boston and Blackie 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 127 
 
 think of it? I could tell from their bearing that, 
 for some reason, they were pleased. I thought of 
 them as fighting material and did not relish the 
 thought. Fighters, yes, but foul fighters. I did not 
 like to think of being leagued with them in an enter 
 prise. And what was this "rich lay" they spoke of? 
 What was this game they were willing I should en 
 ter? Did they, too, think mutiny? 
 
 These thoughts plagued me for days, and I found 
 no answer, or peace of mind. Hell was preparing 
 in that ship, I felt it in my bones; and we were get 
 ting enough hell already, with drive, drive, drive, 
 from dawn to dawn. Yet, there were rifts in the 
 clouds. 
 
 For one thing, Lynch quieted my mind of the fear 
 that the Old Man would again get Newman aloft at 
 night, and attempt his life with better success. The 
 very next day, Lynch came to the foretop, where 
 Newman and I were working on the rigging. He 
 examined the work, and then said, abruptly, to New 
 man, 
 
 U 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," con 
 tinued the second mate. u But he ll not get you that 
 way in my watch. From now on, you need not go 
 aloft after dark." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Newman. 
 
 "You need not," was the response. "I m not do 
 ing this for your sake. Well you understand. And 
 
128 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 make no mistake, my man, as to my position; I am 
 a ship s officer, and if trouble comes it will find me 
 doing my duty 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, a fine 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 is clean." 
 
 She says! Well, it was hardly news to me. I 
 was sure he was in communication with her. He 
 always made it a point to meet Wong, the steward, 
 when the latter came forward to the galley. And 
 there were times in the night watches below when his 
 bunk was empty. He was a great hand for pacing 
 the deck in lonely meditation, and for stowing him 
 self away and brooding alone in odd corners. We 
 did not spy upon him, 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, and for 
 which she was famous the world around, were to be 
 denied us this voyage. Because of Newman s pres 
 ence. We missed the visits ; they would have bright 
 ened the cruel days. But I don t think any man felt 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 129 
 
 resentful against Newman. Our sympathies were 
 all with the lady, and the lady s feelings, we knew, 
 were all with Newman. So it was upon Yankee 
 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 drag themselves aft, 
 and tended them skillfully. But this did not help 
 the bedridden ones. It did not help young Nils. 
 
 But nothing could have helped Nils. The bucko 
 had done his work too well. Not once did the boy 
 rally; daily and visibly his life ebbed. 
 
 You must understand the callous indifference of 
 the afterguard to realize its effect upon the foc sle. 
 The boy lay dying for weeks, and not once did the 
 Captain come forward to look at him. Medicines 
 and opiates 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, and Fitzgibbon kicked 
 him forward. Lynch ignored the very existence of 
 Nils the lad was not of his watch, and the whole 
 matter was none of his business. But Mister Fitz 
 came into the port foc sle every day, to make sure 
 Nils could not stand on his feet and turn to ; and on 
 deck he would sing out to his watch that Nils fate 
 was the fate of each man did he not move livelier. 
 
130 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Jump, you rats! I ll put you all in your bunks !" 
 he would tell them. 
 
 The sight of their young landsman in agony 
 stirred the berserk in the squareheads of the crew. 
 It made them ripe for revolt, drove them to lawless 
 acts, as their shanghaiing and the brutality of the 
 officers could not have done. 
 
 These squareheads were no strangers to each 
 other. They were all friends and old shipmates. 
 The Knitting Swede had crimped them all out of 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 coasting ship. 
 
 Young Nils was a sort of mascot in this crowd. 
 He was making his first deep-water voyage under 
 their protection and guidance. Most of them were 
 his townsmen; they had known him from babyhood. 
 As Lindquist said to 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 
 rage over the pitiful fate of their dear friend fanned 
 into flame a spark of rebellion in the squarehead s 
 disciplined souls, and caused then), eventually, to 
 leap the barriers of race and caste prejudice and 
 make common cause with the stiffs. 
 
 Now, I do not wish to idealize those stiffs. No 
 use saying they were honest workingmen kidnaped 
 to sea. They were not. They were just what the 
 mates called them dogs, scum, vile sweeps of jail 
 and boozing-ken. With the single exception of the 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 131 
 
 shanghaied parson, there was not a decent man in 
 the lot. Bums and crooks, all. 
 
 These men had lived violent, lawless lives ashore. 
 Here, at sea, the mates hammered the fear of the 
 Lord and the Law into them. This was well and 
 good. But the mates hammered too hard. They 
 aimed to cow the stiffs, and cow them they did. But 
 the stiffs fear of the afterguard became so great 
 they were like cornered rats. They came below after 
 a watch on deck with fresh marks upon their faces 
 and bodies, and heard little Nils moaning in his pain. 
 And each man said to himself, "I may be 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 not see significance in it. A mutinous 
 state of mind is a normal state of mind in a hell- 
 ship s foc sle. 
 
 But a mutiny was incubating in that ship. There 
 were men forward who were vitally interested in 
 bringing trouble to a head, in causing an outbreak 
 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 circulat 
 ing among the men during the dog-watches. They 
 
132 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 were great whisperers, a secretive pair, and they 
 never spoke their minds outright before the crowd. 
 I paid them little attention, for I did not like them, 
 and felt no interest in what I thought was their 
 gossip. It never occurred to me they were industri 
 ously fanning the spark of revolt, suggesting re 
 venge to the squareheads, and tickling the ras 
 cally imagination of the stiffs with hints of golden 
 loot 
 
 So far my rule as cock of the foc sle had been 
 unchallenged. All hands had accepted my will in 
 foc sle matters willingly enough, and I had been care 
 ful not to hector. As number one man, it was my 
 place to see that the men stood their "peggy" 
 that is, they took their regular turn about 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 thought himself too good for such menial 
 tasks, and suggested that Shorty, the smallest and 
 weakest of the stiffs, be made permanent peggy. I 
 vetoed this as unfair, and Boston went about the 
 work, but sullenly. 
 
 Next day was Blackie s peggy, as he well knew. 
 When we came below at noon, 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 serv 
 ant girl! Get your own grub!" 
 
 All hands looked at me, expectantly. This was 
 open defiance, and they wanted to see what the cock 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 133 
 
 would do about it. There was only one thing I 
 could do, and I did it gladly. 
 
 I took that chesty stiff by the throat, and squeezed 
 until his eyes popped. Then I carried him out on 
 deck and stuck his head in the wash-deck tub, to cool 
 his ardor ; the whole watch following us as interested 
 spectators. 
 
 "Well, Blackie, how about dinner?" I asked, when 
 I released my grip. 
 
 In answer, he backed quickly away from me, 
 spluttering oaths and salt water. I watched him 
 warily, for his affair with the second mate had shown 
 him to be a knife wielder, and I had no wish to be 
 stabbed. True enough, he jerked out his sheath 
 knife. 
 
 "Stof that, you fool!" came Boston s voice, from 
 behind me. "Do you want to crab the whole game?" 
 Those words had an astonishing effect upon 
 Blackie. His bellicose attitude vanished abruptly, 
 he stopped cursing, and his knife went back into 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 I could have knocked him out as 
 handily as Bucko Lynch, himself, but I knew it was 
 not fear of me, but obedience to Boston s words that 
 caused Blackie to give in so readily. 
 
 Those words bothered me. "Do you want to 
 crab the whole game?" Now what the deuce did 
 
134 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Boston mean? What game were these two worthies 
 up to? Undoubtedly, it was that "rich lay" they 
 had spoken to Newman about. But what had I to 
 do with it? How could I crab their game? I began 
 to think there was something besides loose talk in 
 these hints of revenge and loot the pair were drop 
 ping in the foc sle. 
 
 I guess Boston knew my suspicions must be 
 aroused, and thought it time to sound my sentiments. 
 Also, as it turned out, he wanted to pump me re 
 garding Newman. I was Newman s one close 
 friend, and Boston must have thought I knew some 
 thing of the big man s intentions. 
 
 Anyway, afttr supper that evening, as I was sit 
 ting on the forehatch, whittling away at a model of 
 the Golden Bough I was making, Boston came and 
 sat down beside me. 
 
 "Should think you d be so fed up with this hooker, 
 you wouldn t want any 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 men in her. You ll never see a better 
 craft than the Golden Bough, Boston." 
 
 "Faugh!" he snorted, and followed with a blister 
 ing curse. "Blast your pretty ships ! I d like to see 
 this old hooker go on the rocks, by God 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. I didn t like 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 135 
 
 Boston s eyes. For that matter, I didn t like any 
 thing about 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 a ship as there is afloat and you 
 may call the Old Man and his buckos what 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 weather that will drown the Golden Bough, 
 with good sailors aft! Besides, Boston, we re not 
 likely to have any bad weather, for which you can 
 say a prayer of thanks, for you stiffs would catch it 
 if we did pick up a decent blow." 
 
 "Why not?" he asked. 
 
 "It s a fair weather passage," I explained. "These 
 trades will blow us clean across one hundred and 
 eighty, into the sou west monsoon, and with luck 
 that ll carry us into the China Sea. Of course, there 
 is always the chance of meeting a hurricane this side, 
 or a typhoon on the other side. You ll squeal if we 
 do, I bet!" 
 
 Says he, "Well, now how about running on a 
 rock? We ll be going among islands, hey? These 
 South Sea Islands?" 
 
 "Forget it," I replied. "We ll not sight the 
 beach this side of the Orient, unless the Old Man 
 makes a landfall of Guam. We are running along 
 sixteen north, and that takes us south of the Sand- 
 
136 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 wich group, and north of the Marshalls and Caro 
 lines." 
 
 "Well, now, I guess the Big Un bas been show 
 ing you his map, hey?" 
 
 "What s that to you?" I said, shortly. 
 
 "Nothing. Nothing at all," he answered, hurri 
 edly. 
 
 In truth, I was surprised and nettled. I 
 hadn t got the point of Boston s questions, and I 
 hadn t supposed he was watching Newman and me 
 so 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, and this he brought 
 out every day, and traced upon it the progress of the 
 voyage. He got the ship s position either from the 
 steward, or from the lady, I did not know which. 
 
 I had been privileged to see the chart, but I knew 
 that none other had ventured to approach when it 
 was spread out on Newman s bunk. Newman had 
 traced the ship s probable course clear to Hong 
 Kong, for my benefit, and explained to me the prob 
 lems of the passage. He did not speak like a man 
 merely guessing, but with authority, like a man who 
 had sailed his own ship over this course. I absorbed 
 the information greedily, but did not venture to 
 inquire how he was so positive about Yankee 
 Swope s sailing plans. Somehow, I knew he was 
 correct. 
 
 It pricked my conceit to discover that Boston was 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 137 
 
 aware Newman had fathered 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 re 
 torted. 
 
 "Now don t get mad, Jack," he said humbly. 
 "You know I didn t mean nothing. 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 his flattery. "Say seventy days, at 
 the outside, from Frisco to Hong Kong. Probably 
 sixty days would be nearer to it." 
 
 At that he burst out cursing, and consigned the 
 ship and all her afterguard to the Evil One. "My 
 God, another month of this hell!" he cried. "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 let those fellows aft 
 knock us about? There are thirty of us, and two 
 of them!" 
 
 "More than that," I warned him. "You forget 
 Captain Swope, and the tradesmen. There are seven 
 of them, aft, all armed, and of a fighting breed. You 
 are hinting at a silly business, Boston." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know," he persisted. "Thirty to 
 seven ain t so bad. And they haven t all the arms 
 
138 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 we got our knives, ain t we? And maybe other 
 things, too." 
 
 "Forget it," said I. "Don t imagine for a minute 
 these stiffs will face guns. You and your mate 
 might, but as for the rest of the gang why, Lynch 
 could clean them up single-handed. Better stow 
 that kind of talk. It s dangerous. You have the 
 law against you, and it s a 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 be stiffs, right 
 enough, but they ll fight for money!" 
 
 "Dare say," I remarked, sarcastically. "And I 
 suppose you ll hire them with 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 a whis 
 per. "Shreve, there are a hundred thousand dollars 
 in hard cash aft there in the cabin!" 
 
 "What s that?" I exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "I know. You bet I know. 
 Blackie and me knew before ever we come on board 
 this cursed hooker. The Swede didn t shanghai us, 
 you bet I" 
 
 "Oh, stow that sort of guff, Boston," I told him. 
 "Maybe the Swede didn t shanghai you; but if he 
 didn t, it was because you and your mate were will 
 ing to ship with the devil himself in order to get 
 out of the country." 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 139 
 
 My words touched his temper, as I thought they 
 would. "You seem to know a lot more than I know 
 myself," he sneered. Before I could answer, he re 
 gained control of his tongue, and continued with oily 
 suavity. "I guess the Big Un has been talking to 
 you? Hasn t he? I guess maybe he s told you that 
 Blackie and me are two men who can take a chance 
 without weakening? Say, Jack, what has the Big 
 Un been saying 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 look behind a forced laugh. 
 "Well, if you don t want to tell me, I guess you 
 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 good friends. Blackie 
 and me know that you re a good man, the kind 
 that ll take a chance, and keep his word. Well, 
 we re the same. There are only a few of us in 
 this end of the ship that have any backbone to speak 
 of, and we ought to stick together. There s pay- 
 dirt in this ship 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 his pipe against the hatch- 
 combing to dislodge the dottle, and got to his feet. 
 I thought he was going to leave me without replying 
 
140 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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, just waiting 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, and stepping close to my side, spoke di 
 rectly into my ear. 
 
 u Who is going to take the talk aft? Not you. 
 Blackie and me know that Jack Shreve ain t a snitch. 
 Not the Big Un. You can tell him what I said if 
 you like. You can tell him something more. Blackie 
 and me think there is a snitch in this gang, and the 
 Big Un had better keep his eyes peeled for a double- 
 cross. You tell him that. You tell him to ask 
 Nigger about it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" I cried. 
 
 His answer was a mysterious shake of the head, 
 and he disappeared into the foc sle. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IF Boston meant to give me something to think 
 about, he succeeded. He left 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 concerned over his unexplained warning. 
 What did it mean? Did some new danger threaten 
 my friend? 
 
 I went in search of Newman, to give him the 
 warning. He was not in his bunk, so I stepped into 
 the port foc sle, expecting to find him by Nils side. 
 Nils was dying we had been expecting him to go 
 at almost any hour for a week past and Newman 
 had been spending a goodly share of his watches 
 below by the lad s side. 
 
 But he was not there now. The parson, and some 
 of the squareheads of the port watch, were keeping 
 sick vigil. Nils was very near the time when he 
 must slip his cable; he lay quiet, eyes closed, hardly 
 breathing, and his thin, white face seemed already 
 composed into its death mold. Holy Joe sat hold 
 ing 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 in the air of the port 
 foc sle. I left without disturbing the silent watch- 
 Hi 
 
142 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 ers, but I wondered at their boldness. They should 
 have been on deck. Mister Fitzgibbon did not give 
 his men respite, even during the dog-watches. 
 
 I went poking about the odd corners of the fore 
 deck, expecting to find my man tucked away some 
 where smoking and meditating, for Newman was a 
 solitary fellow, very fond of his own company in his 
 free time. I laid the ill-success of my search to the 
 dusk; it was past seven bells, and although there 
 was still a glow in the western sky, on board ship 
 it was quite dark and the sidelights had been out a 
 half hour. Finally, I decided to lay off, waylay the 
 Nigger when he came forward from his trick at the 
 wheel, and ask him myself what was the meaning of 
 Boston s talk of "snitch." 
 
 Now it was no light undertaking for a foremast 
 hand to trespass abaft the main mast in the Golden 
 Bough. There was risk in it, risk of a beating, or 
 worse. A man might lay aft in that ship to work, 
 or in obedience to orders, but for no other reason. 
 Hell-ship discipline. 
 
 So I slipped aft without making a noise, and 
 avoided attracting to myself unwelcome attention 
 from the poop. I was barefoot, and I crept along 
 the rail, keeping within the shadows on the lee deck. 
 When I came abreast the roundhouse, I darted into 
 the black shadow it threw upon the lee deck, and 
 crouched there, composed to wait. My eyes were 
 aft, upon the break of the poop, and I was ready to 
 take instant flight forward, did discovery threaten me. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 143 
 
 After I had lain there a moment, I noticed the 
 figure of a man standing motionless, 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; I 
 looked hard before I decided it was a man. It was 
 too dark to make out his features, almost too dark 
 to discern outline, but by the bigness of the blot 
 he made against his background I was sure the man 
 was Newman. What he was doing in such a posi 
 tion I could not guess, but I was so sure of my man 
 I did not hesitate to move towards him. I even 
 spoke his name, in an urgent whisper. 
 
 My hiss brought a prompt response, but not the 
 one for which I was looking. To my surprise the 
 fellow ran away from me; he slipped across the 
 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 flitting figure. 
 
 Then all at once I discovered I must take cover 
 myself. I heard the mate 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 at the 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 look 
 ing over the poop rail. I was in a ticklish position 
 
144 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 altogether. If braces were to be tightened, the lee 
 of the roundhouse would be a poor hiding-place for 
 me. In fact it would be no hiding-place at all. But 
 get out of sight I must, and quickly, or suffer the un 
 pleasant consequences of discovery. 
 
 I heard boots clumping on the poop deck. There 
 wasn t time for me to escape forward. So I darted 
 aft and flattened myself against the cabin wall, 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 second too soon. Sails 
 and Chips came down the port ladder, and paused 
 on the main deck, almost within arm s reach of me, 
 waiting for the mate to join them. 
 
 If they had glanced in my direction they must have 
 seen me. But they were looking forward, and were 
 also occupied with talk. 
 
 Said Chips, "But what s the game? He s work 
 ing up trouble, that s plain. But what s he after this 
 time?" 
 
 Said Sails, "He s after that fellow in the Greaser s 
 watch, or I m a damn bad guesser. But, his game 
 well, ask me something easy. Did you ever know 
 anybody to fathom his game?" 
 
 This I heard with one ear. At the same time my 
 other ear was getting filled with different kind of 
 talk. Aye, my post was between two conversations, 
 and I found myself eavesdropping in two directions. 
 
 This wall I hugged was the forward wall of the 
 sail-locker, which, in the Golden Bough, was a large 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 145 
 
 room in the cabin space, and as I stood, my star 
 board ear was but a few inches distant from the sail- 
 locker door. This door was in two parts, and the 
 upper half was barely ajar. Through this narrow 
 slit I heard I couldn t help hearing the murmur 
 of low-voiced talk. Two people were in the sail- 
 locker, talking. Oh, aye, I had discovered Newman. 
 I recognized his voice. I recognized the other voice 
 the lady s voice. 
 
 "Oh, Mary little love it doesn t seem to mat 
 ter any more. When I am with you, it is just a 
 hideous dream from which I have awakened." It 
 was 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 s iron man. 
 "But now I wish to live again. Ah, little love, I 
 have been dead too long, dead to everything except 
 pain and hate. But now that I know, now that we 
 both know oh, Mary, surely we have earned the 
 right to live and love. God will not hold it against 
 us, if I take you from that 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 not have 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 other direction, from Chips. "The 
 steward says he s all set to go." 
 
146 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "He s been all set for a fortnight," was the other 
 man s comment, "but he hangs on. Takes a lot to 
 kill a squarehead. Most likely he ll be hanging on 
 when we make port." 
 
 "Not if I know Fitz and him," said Chips. 
 "You don t think they d leave evidence of that 
 sort for a port doctor to squint at. Remember 
 that Portagee, last voyage, and how he fin 
 ished?" 
 
 "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?" said Newman. "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 with him, in lessening even a little 
 bit the misery he causes those poor men, I have been 
 atoning, in a little measure, for my lack of faith in 
 you. Oh, it was my fault in the beginning, dearest. 
 If only I had had faith in the beginning, if only I 
 had trusted my heart instead of my eyes and ears. 
 I might have known that time that Beulah was 
 lying." 
 
 "Hush. How could you know? It was my stub 
 born, stupid pride. If I had not rushed away and 
 left the field to him. And I never knew, or even 
 guessed, until Beasley told me." 
 
 "If I was that big fellow, I d just hop over the 
 side and have it over with," came from Sails. "If 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 147 
 
 the Old Man is after him, he s bound to get him, 
 and making a quick finish himself would save a lot 
 o bother all around." 
 
 "What s it about, anyway?" says Chips. 
 
 "How do I know?" answered Sails. "I don t go 
 poking my nose into Yankee Swope s business, you 
 can bet your bottom dollar I don t. I take my or 
 ders, and let it go at that. Same as you. Same as 
 the others. There s Fitz up there now, chinning 
 with him, and I bet Fitz don t know much more of 
 his game than you and me. He takes his orders 
 just like we do." 
 
 "That s right. We ain t hired to think. Not in 
 this ship," agreed Chips. 
 
 "Do you think, Roy, that Beulah that she 
 jumped herself?" The lady s voice 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, long ago. It would be like him, Roy. 
 He has never dropped a hint that would incriminate 
 himself, but I have known his guilt of the other 
 thing for which you suffered ever since our mar 
 riage. When he dropped the mask, revealed him 
 self in his true character oh, I knew he must be 
 guilty. And I was helpless." 
 
 "My God, five years 1" muttered Newman. "How 
 could you stand it?" 
 
 "It was not so hard, except at first," said the lady. 
 
148 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Too much horror numbs, you know. And one 
 thing made it endurable he has spared me the in 
 timacy of marriage. It is true, dearest; I am as 
 much a maid as I was five years ago. He is that 
 kind of a man, Roy. It is not women he lusts for, 
 it is oh, it is blood. There is something horrible 
 in his mind, a diseased spot, an unnatural quirk, that 
 drives him to abominable cruelties. It is some tiger 
 ish instinct he possesses; it makes him kill and de 
 stroy, it makes him inflict pain. Oh, Roy, it is his 
 pleasure to inflict pain." 
 
 "Lynch doesn t like it," said Sails, in reply to 
 some question I had missed hearing. 
 
 "Little good not liking it will do him," was Chips 
 opinion. "He ll do what the Old Man wants him 
 to do, just like the rest of us." 
 
 "Has he ever used you as victim?" said New 
 man, a new, hard note in his voice. 
 
 "No, no, not in that way," answered the lady. 
 "It is to the crew he does that. He has never hurt 
 me physically." 
 
 "But mentally, eh?" remarked Newman. "He 
 enjoys refinements of cruelty, also? Mental torture, 
 when he finds a mind intelligent enough to appre 
 ciate subtleties? That is it?" 
 
 "Yes, that is it," said the lady. "It was horrible 
 at first. But afterwards, when I had found my 
 work, I did not mind him very much. He let me go 
 on playing doctor to the crew because he thought 
 it hurt me to see and handle those poor creatures. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 149 
 
 Oh, it did hurt ! But the work, 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 have lived through. Oh, my 
 poor darling! And he the vile brute " 
 
 "No, no, not that attitude! You have prom 
 ised " exclaimed the lady. 
 
 "He s not soft," Sails disputed with Chips. "He s 
 as hard as they re made. 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 any 
 thing the skipper says, we being what we are, and 
 him being what he is, and we knowing he can turn 
 us up, and will, if we don t suit. But Jim Lynch 
 not Swope, or any other man, has a hold on him." 
 
 "No man, maybe," says Chips. "But in the other 
 quarter, now. If Lynch ain t soft there, I m a sol 
 dier." 
 
 "Who ain t a bit soft in that quarter?" Sails de 
 manded. "I m mighty sorry for her, same as you 
 are, same as everyone is, save Fitz. If it wasn t that 
 Swope has me body and soul, I d side with Lynch, 
 b Gawd, in anything he wanted to start." 
 
 "Shut up !" exclaimed Chips. "That s damn fool 
 talk to come out o your mouth." 
 
 "Oh, you have softened me, Mary, you have un 
 manned me!" I heard Newman say. "I came to 
 
150 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 this ship to kill, and now there is little bitterness 
 left in my heart. I am only eager now to be gone 
 with you beyond his reach." 
 
 "I am glad, more glad than I can tell," the 
 lady told him. "His lies have ruined your life, and 
 mine, but I do not want you to stain your hands with 
 his blood. Oh, there has been so much bloodshed! 
 You must not; you have promised!" 
 
 "Yes, and I will keep my promise," said Newman. 
 "But you have promised, too, and you know how I 
 qualified my promise. We cannot take too many 
 chances with him, and you know that he has no 
 scruples about shedding blood. He knows, he must 
 know, that I do not intend to leave you in his hands; 
 he must realize, also, that now he is not safe so long 
 as either of us is alive and at large. Why, dear, 
 you know the trap he is preparing!" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," was the response. "But my 
 prayer is that we may get away before he is ready." 
 
 "It is my prayer, too," said Newman. "I gladly 
 give up my revenge for your 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 Fitzgibbon stamped down the ladder. But 
 he was already bawling for the watch, and had his 
 eyes fixed straight ahead; and immediately he went 
 forward with the tradesmen at his heels. 
 
 I waited until the mate s bellow sounded well 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 151 
 
 forward, and I was sure my retreat would be un 
 observed. Then I placed my lips to the opening 
 in the sail-locker door and called softly, New 
 man! Come out of that at once; you are spied 
 upon!" 
 
 I heard the lady gasp, and knew my message was 
 received and understood. I waited for no other re 
 sponse. I scuttled away from that perilous spot 
 as fast as caution permitted my legs to travel. Jack 
 Shreve was no Newman; I had not his cool nerve 
 when it came to flouting hell-ship rules. In truth, 
 I was in a blue funk all the time I was aft, for fear 
 I would be discovered. And there was another rea 
 son for my haste in getting forward. There was a 
 sudden uproar in front of the foc sle that bade fair 
 to carry through the ship. 
 
 There was trouble in the air; I could sniff it as I 
 ran. Although time enough 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 a ship where men literally flew about their work. 
 The trouble was in the port foc sle; I could see the 
 crowd bunched on the deck before the door, and 
 Mister Fitzgibbon s voice had risen to a shrill, ob 
 scene scream as he poured blistering curses upon 
 some luckless head. 
 
 I dodged across the deck and around the star 
 board side of the deck house, and thus came upon 
 the scene in a casual manner, as though I had just 
 stepped out of my own foc sle to see what was 
 
152 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 wrong. I mingled with 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 be preparing. Aye, the mate had at last 
 struck fire from his squareheads I They were on the 
 verge of open rebellion. The stiffs of the port 
 watch had fallen to one side, and stood quaking and 
 irresolute, but the squareheads, all of them, were 
 bunched squarely between the mate and the foc sle 
 door, and to the mate s stream of curses they inter 
 posed a wall of their own oaths. Mister Fitzgibbon 
 had his right hand in his coat pocket, and all hands 
 knew that hand was closed about the butt of a re 
 volver; moreover, the tradesmen stood on either side 
 of him, prepared to back him up in whatever course 
 he chose to take. They were good men, those trades 
 men, fighting men, and skilled in just such battles as 
 this promised to be. The port watch Sails, who 
 stood nearest to me, was armed with a heavy sheet 
 pin, and he stood with his face half turned towards 
 the starboard side. Aye, they were canny fighters 
 if it came to blows they would not be taken in the 
 flank by surprise. 
 
 Mister Fitzgibbon was swearing over the heads 
 of the squareheads. He threw his words into foc sle. 
 He was calling upon Holy Joe, the parson, 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 the squareheads were showing 
 fight not to protect their own skins, but to save the 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 153 
 
 parson from the mate s wrath. For their little Nils 
 was dying, and Holy Joe was by his side, praying 
 for his passing soul. As I learned afterwards, when 
 the mate sang out for his watch to man the braces, 
 all jumped to obey save the parson; he stayed with 
 Nils. His absence was noted immediately, for the 
 mate was lynx-eyed; and Fitzgibbon was all for in 
 vading the foc sle and hauling out the truant by the 
 scruff of the neck. Aye, Mister Fitz was all for 
 teaching a lesson 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 meant business, ordered the watch 
 aft to the braces. The stiffs tumbled over them 
 selves in their eagerness to obey; but not a square 
 head budged. They still stood between the mate 
 and his victim. So he drew the revolver 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 a man, or worse, meant little 
 to the mate of the Golden Bough, and the square 
 head bravely stood his ground. But the threat to 
 shoot into the men who were shielding him had the 
 effect of drawing the parson out of the foc sle. He 
 suddenly appeared in the lighted doorway. 
 
154 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "Oho, that brought you out of it hey, you. 
 sniveling this-and-that !" hailed Fitzgibbon. He 
 lifted his aim from Lindquist, and brought 
 the weapon to bear upon Holy Joe. "Step aft, 
 here, you swab, or I ll drill you through, s help 
 me!" 
 
 The words brought a menacing growl from the 
 squareheads ; there was a stir among them, and they 
 seemed about to fling themselves upon the trio. 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 really mattered. Aye, Holy Joe might have 
 been the skipper, himself, from his air. He spoke 
 with authority, in a deep, commanding voice, and 
 the squareheads instantly gave him the obedience 
 they had refused the mate. They did not, indeed, 
 tumble aft in the wake of the stiffs; but they did 
 spread out and make a lane through their midst 
 down which Holy Joe advanced 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 an 
 other murder to your crimes?" 
 
 To me, to the mate and his henchmen, indeed, 
 to all hands, it was a most astounding situation. 
 And perhaps the most surprising element in it was 
 the fact that Holy Joe was not immediately shot or 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 155 
 
 felled with a blow, 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 had as 
 sumed the same heroic proportions Newman had 
 assumed the day he chased the skipper from the 
 poop. Oh, it was no physical change that took 
 place; it was rather as if the man doffed a mask 
 and revealed himself to us in his true self. There 
 he stood, a full head shorter than his antagonist, 
 with his head tilted back to meet the larger man s 
 eyes, and Bully Fitzgibbon quailed before his gaze. 
 
 I watched the little man, awe-stricken. I had 
 been bred to worship force, it was the only deity I 
 knew, and Holy Joe was in my eyes the symbol of 
 force. He radiated force, and it was a strange and 
 wonderful force. I had glimpsed this power in New 
 man; now, for the first time in my life I saw it fully 
 revealed. The only kind of force I had known or 
 imagined was brute force, the kind of force Mister 
 Fitzgibbon epitomized; but now, in this duel of wills 
 that was taking place before my eyes, I saw another 
 and superior power at work. It was a force of the 
 mind, or soul, that Holy Joe employed; it was a 
 moral force that poured out of the clean spirit of the 
 man and subdued the brute force pitted against him. 
 
 "Put down that weapon!" Holy Joe repeated. 
 
 Slowly, the mate lowered his arm. 
 
 The parson turned to the squareheads; aye, he 
 
156 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 turned his back full upon the bucko, and the latter 
 made no move against him. 
 
 "Obey your orders, men," Holy Joe said to the 
 sailors. "Go to your work as he commands. I will 
 stay with the boy." 
 
 The squareheads obeyed without question. They 
 knew, just as all of us knew, that their little cham 
 pion was in no danger of mishandling, at least not at 
 that moment. They trooped aft, heavy-footed, mur 
 muring, but docile, and joined the stiffs at the lee 
 braces. Holy Joe, now alone on that deck so far 
 as physical backing went, turned again to the mate. 
 But indeed he needed no physical backing; his in 
 domitable spirit had cowed the bucko. 
 
 "Your men will give you no further trouble, sir; 
 they are at their stations," said he. 
 
 It was the first time he had used the "sir." For 
 an instant it seemed a 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 the parson. He said the words 
 so solemnly and sternly they sounded like a judg 
 ment; aye, and they nipped the rising courage of the 
 mate. He could only mumble, and stammer out, 
 
 "You you refuse duty?" 
 
 Holy Joe was silent for an instant. All of us 
 were silent. One could have heard a pin drop upon 
 the deck. Then, out of the port foc sle, a dreadful 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 157 
 
 sound came to our ears, a low, strangled moan. It 
 stabbed the vitals of the most hardened of us; with 
 my own eyes I saw the mate tremble. Aye, in some 
 way Holy Joe had sent a fear into the brute soul of 
 Fitzgibbon; in some way he had sent a fear into the 
 brute souls of us all, and, at least in my case, a great 
 wonder. The pain-filled wail of Nils, coming as it 
 did, seemed magic-inspired to light for me a uni 
 versal truth. I felt it crudely, saw it dimly, but 
 there it was, dramatized before my eyes, the age 
 long, ceaseless battle between the Beast in Man and 
 the God in Man, the resistless power of service and 
 sacrifice. Aye, and Holy Joe s softly spoken reply 
 to the mate s words confirmed 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 we breathed, something elec 
 tric and vitalizing. There was an immediate let 
 down of the nervous tension that had gripped us, a 
 common sigh, and a half-hysterical snigger from 
 some fellow behind me. Mister Fitzgibbon seemed 
 to come out of a trance ; he shook himself, and stared 
 at Sails and then at Chips. He glared across the 
 deck at us of the starboard watch. He even swore. 
 But there was no life to his curse, and he made no 
 step to follow the defiiant stiff into the foc sle. In 
 stead, he went to the job at hand, and quite ob- 
 
158 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 viously sought to regain mastery and self-respect by 
 sulphuric blustering towards the men bent over the 
 ropes. He was a defeated man. He knew it, and 
 we knew it. 
 
 A hand fell upon my shoulder. Newman stood 
 behind me. 
 
 "A brave act and a brave man," said he. "But 
 they will not let him keep his triumph." After a 
 pause he added, "They dare not." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 I SEIZED Newman s arm and led him aside, in 
 tending 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, Jackl" 
 
 I did not need his warning; the mere presence of 
 either of the pair was sufficient to keep any sailor- 
 man wide awake and watchful of his p s and q s 
 while steering her. There was nothing uncommon 
 
 i59 
 
160 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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 unprece 
 dented. 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 ap 
 pear, he engaged in conversation with the Old Man, 
 beyond my hearing. But near midnight he 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. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 161 
 
 "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 sail- 
 maker 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 mat 
 ter 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 can 
 vas. 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 
 
162 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Fitzgibbon, giving him certain orders, to which he 
 at first objected, and then agreed. 
 
 It looked wicked to me, this secretive conversa 
 tion. My excited mind saw evil in it. I smelled 
 evil, tasted evil, the very skin of my body was 
 prickled with the air of evil that lay upon the ship. 
 A case of nerves? Aye, I had nerves. Most sailor- 
 men had nerves when they were within sight of Cap 
 tain 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 be 
 fore 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 163 
 
 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 re 
 lieved, 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 peace 
 ful 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 
 
164 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 a minister. Reason, command, do your best to con 
 vince 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 165 
 
 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. 
 U I want you to know, Jack, that your friendship 
 is a strength to me," he said, with sudden earnest 
 ness. "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 1 I was in 
 the hero-worship stage of life, and this myterious 
 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 warn 
 ing! Look at Nils! I tell you, we ll have to fight! 
 
166 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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 arc 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 arc 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 pres 
 ent 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 167 
 
 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. Some 
 how, 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 ex 
 pression 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 other 
 
 wise." 
 
 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 New 
 man 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 unwit- 
 
168 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 tingly 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 treach 
 ery 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, any- 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 169 
 
 way, 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 be 
 come 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 
 
170 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 to aid me in case of trouble (you remember the 
 warning he gave us that day we were in the rig 
 ging) 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 
 v/as made to order, to the captain s order,, even as 
 Newman said. 
 
 "Good heavens then Nils death and r tHe haz 
 ing" 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 atten 
 tion or nursing was a calculated brutality, designed 
 to inflame the boy s mates. Fitzgibbon s bitter haz 
 ing, without distinction or justice, was for the same 
 purpose. They kept a close eye upon the boy s con 
 dition; they evidently figured that the hour of his 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 171 
 
 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! 
 
172 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "But they will keep quiet. They had better. I 
 promised them I would kill them both if they dis 
 obeyed 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 tem 
 pered, 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 173 
 
 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 de 
 mands 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, consid 
 ering 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. 
 
174 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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 Serv 
 ice, 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 oven The parson fell into step with 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 175 
 
 Newman, and the two paced up and down, convers 
 ing 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 some 
 thing 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 
 
176 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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 Nig 
 ger 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 wif out me knowin it. We ll be wahned befoh 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 177 
 
 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. New 
 man 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 keep 
 ing 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 
 
178 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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. u 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 for ard 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 I 
 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 179 
 
 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 "break 
 ing" 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. * 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE day following Nils death was the most 
 peaceful day we had had since leaving port. 
 There was less cursing and driving from the 
 men aft, and less wrangling among ourselves. But 
 it was a strange peace. An air of suspense lay upon 
 the ship; we went around on tiptoe, so to speak. 
 The quiet before the typhoon aye, Nigger s phrase 
 just about described it. We went around telling 
 each other that the trouble had blown over, and 
 nothing was going to happen, and all the time we 
 were watching and waiting for something we 
 didn t know just what to happen. 
 
 During the morning, Mister Fitzgibbon and his 
 bullies came swaggering forward and into the port 
 foc sle. Now that was a moment that very nearly 
 saw the calm broken; for an instant I was sure there 
 would be a grand 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, the 
 squareheads resented the removal of Nils effects. 
 Especially did they resent Fitzgibbon s part in the 
 removal. The lads in my watch crowded the door 
 connecting the rooms, and the port watch men col 
 lected on deck and glowered in at the proceedings. 
 
 The muttered curses grew in volume. Oh, it 
 180 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 181 
 
 looked like trouble, right enough for just a mo 
 ment. Now that I was enlightened as to the skip 
 per s game, I could see what the mate was up to. 
 He, who was largely responsible for Nils death, 
 had come forward upon this errand because he 
 knew or Swope knew his presence would enrage 
 Nils mates. The Chinese steward, or the trades 
 men alone, could have taken Nils gear without rais 
 ing a murmur from the squareheads, but quite nat 
 urally they 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, was rich 
 but you must know the foc sle mind to understand 
 how rich we thought it was. It was nothing subtle, 
 nothing above our heads. Newman made us laugh, 
 at the mate s expense, and presto! impending 
 tragedy was turned into farce. 
 
 Fitzgibbon, himself, was overhauling Nils gear. 
 The tradesmen stood idle 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 and peaceful. Newman pushed through our 
 crowd until he was fairly into the port foc sle, and 
 there he stood, filling the doorway, and effectually 
 blocking 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 very softly to himself. After 
 
182 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 a moment we began to chuckle too, every man-jack 
 of us. We didn t laugh out loud not one of us, 
 except Newman, who had the nerve to laugh out loud 
 at Blackjack Fitzgibbon but, hidden behind the 
 big fellow s back, we chuckled and snickered 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 that the fellow was looking for 
 trouble. He expected trouble, and it made him 
 nervous. He was determined he would be ready 
 for it. So he kept one hand in his coat pocket, 
 where he carried his gun, and tried with the other 
 hand to cast adrift the lashings that held the chest 
 to the bunk posts. It was a two-hand job, and he 
 made slow work of it. But he wouldn t call one of 
 his tradesmen to help him that would have left a 
 door unguarded, you see. Nor could he fix his 
 attention upon the job; he kept twisting his ugly 
 face this way and that way until his head looked as 
 if it were on a pivot. 
 
 If Newman hadn t pointed it out, I doubt if any 
 of us would have seen the humor of the scene. But 
 Newman s chuckle forced it upon us. Mister Fitz 
 gibbon did look ridiculous fumbling blindly with 
 the ropes, and at the same time trying to keep both 
 ends of the foc sle in sight at once. 
 
 "I ll lend you one of my hands, Mister," said 
 Newman, suddenly. 
 
 The mate glanced at him, startled, but before he 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 183 
 
 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 at the big fellow, and snarled an 
 oath in reply. Then he drew a knife, and committed 
 the lubberly act of cutting through the lashing at 
 his end of the chest. Newman had finished undoing 
 the rope at his end, and now he stepped back into 
 the doorway. 
 
 I ve never been sure, but I think Newman did it 
 purposely. The rope s end was spliced about the 
 handle of the chest, and when he cast the rope loose, 
 it trailed upon the floor. Newman left the bight 
 turned about the bunk-post, and in such fashion 
 that it would tighten into a clove-hitch. 
 
 Now that it was a case of our laughing at him, 
 the mate was eager to get out of the foc sle with as 
 little loss of dignity as possible. He started to walk 
 away, dragging Nils chest after him. The clove- 
 hitch checked him. He jerked, with all his strength, 
 and his strength was enormous there was a crack 
 like a pistol shot as the bunk-post snapped, the chest 
 leaped like a live thing at the man, and Fitzgibbon 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 him with an explosive oof! 
 
 Oh, it was rich. Aye, it was the kind of joke the 
 
184 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 foc sle could appreciate. We did appreciate it. We 
 did not quite dare roar our laughter, but our 
 chuckles would have shaken windows ashore. Even 
 the tradesmen grinned behind their hands as 
 they lifted the chest from off their boss, and him to 
 his feet. He needed assistance, too; he had no 
 wind for curses, and bent double nursing the injured 
 spot while he grunted at the tradesmen to ipj?k>up 
 the chest and carry it aft. He paid no attehtRm to 
 the rest of us, but as he hobbled out of the foc sle 
 in the wake of the others, he gave Newman a look 
 of such malignant hatred that we all knew just 
 where he placed the blame for the episode. 
 
 It did not bother Newman, that look. He was on 
 deck at the mate s heels. Bravado, I thought at 
 first, and I was close behind Newman, for I 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 saw how warily he was 
 watching the hands, the port watch squareheads, 
 particularly, who were bunched about the foredeck. 
 Newman wasn t following the mate to make sport 
 for us ; he was seeing that the mate, and the trades 
 men, got aft without trouble. He was seeing to it 
 that no one on deck gave the bucko the excuse to 
 start trouble that had been denied him in the foc sle. 
 Aye, Newman was a wise lad; he would not be 
 caught napping. 
 
 Yet, despite his care, he nearly lost. Mister 
 Fitzgibbon brushed past Cockney, who was standing 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 185 
 
 alone by the forward end of the deck-house. He 
 croaked something at the man, an oath, I thought. 
 Cockney waited until he passed by, and then sud 
 denly whipped out his knife and drew back 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 
 dir ^ ! ->n, a cat-like bound that took him over to the 
 ran, t^.far away from Cockney as he could get. It 
 was Holy Joe who spoiled Cockney s knife-play. 
 He was standing behind Cockney, and, quick as 
 Newman himself, he leaped forward and struck 
 Cockney s arm. It spoiled the aim. The knife did 
 not go in the mate s direction at all; it went flashing 
 across the deck, and stuck quivering in the rail. 
 
 "You fool!" cried Holy Joe. 
 
 The mate wheeled about at that. Aye, and he 
 had his pistol half out of his pocket as he turned. 
 We could see by his face that he understood what 
 had happened; indeed, he would have been blind 
 not to have been able to read the meaning of the 
 scene Cockney still bent in the attitude of throw 
 ing, and the parson clutching his arm. I expected 
 we all expected he would shoot Cockney. Surely, 
 this was his chance, if he wanted trouble. 
 
 But he hardly glanced at the man. His eyes 
 passed him by, and darted about until they spotted 
 Newman lounging over there by the rail, with his 
 hands in his pockets. I guess it was an unpleasant 
 surprise to find Newman over there, just opposite 
 
186 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 to where he expected to find him. The knife was 
 sticking in the rail close by Newman s shoulder; 
 there could be no connecting it and Newman 
 indeed, Newman s own knife was in plain view, in 
 its sheath. 
 
 Newman shook his head. u Not this time, Mis 
 ter," says he. 
 
 The mate was stumped, and enraged. His face 
 grew actually purple with his choked rage, as he 
 glared at Newman. But he did not draw the gun 
 free of his pocket; he had no excuse to offer New 
 man violence, and he did not deign to notice Cockney. 
 He did not even seem to notice the naked knife. 
 Slowly his hand opened, and the butt of the weapon 
 dropped back into his pocket. Then he turned, and 
 went aft. 
 
 I breathed again. So, I guess, did the others. 
 When Fitzgibbon was beyond ear-shot, Cockney 
 began to damn Holy Joe for spoiling his aim. But 
 he didn t get very far with his tirade before New 
 man had him shouldered against the wall of the 
 deck-house. 
 
 Cockney changed his tune then, and mighty quick. 
 For Newman looked as he had looked that day in 
 the Knitting Swede s; aye, there was death in his 
 face. 
 
 "Ow, Gaw , ear me. Hi didn t mean no trou 
 ble 1" Cockney bleated. "Hit was the nyme e called 
 me. E myde me see red, that s wot." 
 
 "Would have been a damn good job if he d 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 187 
 
 landed!" cried Boston s voice. There was an em 
 phatic chorus of approval of this sentiment from 
 the hands, 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 eart but e spoiled me throw, 
 the blarsted Bible shark, the " 
 
 "That will do," said Newman quietly, and Cock 
 ney 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 sentence unfinished, but he must have 
 looked the rest for Cockney fell into a terrible 
 funk. 
 
 "Ow, s elp me, Hi didn t mean no trouble. Hit 
 was the nyme e called 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 used us 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. But he recovered quickly enough 
 when Newman turned away, without further words, 
 
188 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 and without offering to thump him. He slouched 
 forward, and immediately became the hero of the 
 hour with the gang. Aye ; I was even a bit envious. 
 It took a hard case to heave a knife at a bucko 
 even at 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 want to see him," he replied. 
 
 And I was so thick-headed I didn t understand. 
 But it really was a peaceful day. After Nils 
 chest went aft, we might have been a comfortable 
 family ship so little were we troubled by the after 
 guard. Lynch, of course, kept his watch busy while 
 it was on deck, but he didn t haze; and Fitzgibbon 
 all but forgot he had a watch. It was a queer rest. 
 It got upon my nerves, this waiting for something 
 I didn t know what to happen. 
 
 It carried over into the night, this unusual quiet. 
 Aye, Captain Swope kept the deck that night in the 
 first watch, as well as Fitzgibbon, and not a single 
 man was damned or thumped. When we turned out 
 for the middle watch, we found the port watch la^s 
 crowing that they had farmed away 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 even the most lubberly of the stiffs. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 189 
 
 Aye, for the first time during the voyage perhaps 
 for the first time in the life of the ship a full day 
 passed in the Golden Bough and not a man felt the 
 weight of a boot or a fist. It was an occasion, I 
 can tell you ! 
 
 Yet, for all of the afterguard s surprising gentle 
 ness, that mid-watch was a nightmare to me. New 
 man disappeared. 
 
 Ever since the night at the beginning of the voy 
 age when Captain Swope tried to snap us off the 
 yardarm, I made it a practice to stick close to 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. I was always dread 
 ing that Swope would try again some dark night, 
 and with 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 what proof, what trace, have you? Just a 
 line in the logbook, "Man lost overboard in the 
 night." Aye, many a lad and many an officer 
 hi* had just that happen to him. 
 
 So it was that in the night watches I became 
 Newman s shadow. It was literally shoulder to 
 shoulder with us, we handed the same lines, bent 
 over the same jobs. Newman never mentioned it, 
 never asked me to stick close, but I knew he wel 
 comed the attention. He knew the danger of walk 
 ing alone in the dark in that ship. Mister Lynch 
 
190 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 kept his word and never again sent either of us 
 aloft at night. In fact, the second mate did more 
 than that; from that night on, whenever Newman 
 had a night wheel, Lynch stayed aft on the poop 
 during the trick. Oh, there was no friendship be 
 tween the two ; I know that for certain. Lynch was 
 an officer, and Newman just a hand. But he was a 
 square man, and he was seeing 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 half of the watch we touched 
 elbows. As usual, the second mate worked sail 
 and kept us dancing a lively jig. He made work, 
 Lynch did. He would walk along the deck and 
 jerk each buntline in passing and then order lads 
 aloft to overhaul and stop the lines again. He 
 would command a tug on this line, a pull on that; 
 no sail was ever trimmed fine enough to suit him. 
 Oh, aye, he was but following his nature and train 
 ing; he could not bear being idle himself, and he 
 knew that busy men don t brood themselves into 
 trouble. And running a watch ragged was hell- 
 ship style. 
 
 We were aft on a job brailling in the spanker, 
 I recall when I missed Newman. An instant be 
 fore we were together, we had handed the same 
 line; suddenly he was gone froin my side. At first 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 191 
 
 I thought he had passed around to the other side 
 of the mizzenmast, for we were coiling down gear 
 that had been disarranged during the job, and I 
 was not worried. 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 remainder of 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 was as plain as the nose on my face 
 that he was purposely keeping us forward. Some 
 thing was going on, aft there by the boat skids, by 
 the break of the poop ; it was a moonless night, but 
 once or twice I saw shadows flitting about the main 
 deck. 
 
 I was in a quandary. Something was going on 
 aft but what? Newman was missing. The bucko 
 knew he was absent from the gang, he must have 
 known. Yet he ignored his absence. Was it treach 
 ery? Was Newman in trouble? 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 aft and lend him a hand, succor 
 him, at least help him to put up a good fight. But 
 I wasn t sure he was in trouble, that he would wel 
 come my advertising his disappearance. Perhaps 
 he was keeping a rendezvous, with the second 
 mate s aid. 
 
 That was what the other lads thought. Oh, aye, 
 
192 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 they missed him too. But they didn t have wit 
 enough to realize that Lynch also had sharp eyes; 
 they thought Lynch didn t know Newman was gone. 
 They thought it was a great joke, a score 
 against the cabin. They thought Newman had 
 boldly slipped away from work to meet the 
 lady. 
 
 u 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, Lynch marshaled us aft again, to set 
 the spanker this time. As we worked, Newman 
 slipped into the group as quietly and unobtrusively 
 as he had slipped out nearly two hours before. 
 Coiling down gear, I discovered that the running 
 part of the spanker vang was off the pin, and trail 
 ing over the side. It dropped down past the open 
 and lighted porthole of one of the cabin berths. 
 Whose berth? Well, I thought that Boston had 
 the right of it. Newman had been "queeninY with 
 his feet in the ocean, so to speak. 
 
 But he had been up to something else, as well. 
 As he and I walked forward, 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 
 yvheel understand?" was Newman s prompt reply. 
 
 It took a moment to filter into the squarehead s 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 193 
 
 mind. But he got it. "So ja t 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 shoulder and 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, or guess yes, it is a good 
 blind." 
 
 I was a little resentful, and showed it. "You 
 know I don t want you to tell me anything you don t 
 want to tell me, but I think you might have dropped 
 a hint in my ear. How was I to know that the 
 greaser hadn t played a trick on you, and given you 
 over to the Old Man? I don t know what game 
 you re playing, and if you don t want to tell me I 
 don t want to 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 out what 
 had become of you." 
 
 "Jack, it isn t my mistrust that keeps you in the 
 dark," says he. "You know I trust you absolutely. 
 But I cannot explain others have that right. But, 
 lad, I can tell you this things are moving, aft there, 
 and the sky is brighter for me and for her. And, 
 
194 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 you must not worry about me if this should happen 
 again, some other night. I shall be safe; don t 
 come hunting me, it might ruin everything. You 
 will know soon just what is happening. And you 
 already know, Jack, how I count upon 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 little catch in his voice. "A thick- 
 and-thin friend, eh, Jack? I ve learned something 
 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 could feel hell simmering beneath the smooth sur 
 face of the ship s life, but I could not see it, or 
 guess when or where it would bubble over. 
 
 Even Lynch toned down his adjectives, and 
 slackened his driving. He was commanded to do 
 so by Captain Swope while the watch was within 
 hearing. The Old Man told him to u go easy with 
 those boys, Mister; we ve made it too hard for 
 them this voyage." Aye, that was a nice bitter pill 
 for Bucko Lynch to swallow before his watch; oh, 
 the lads enjoyed it, I can tell you. 
 
 Fitzgibbon, the roaring lion, became the bleating 
 lamb. He hardly worked his men during those 
 days, let alone haze them. He let Nigger alone. 
 He stopped swearing at Holy Joe. Why, a man 
 might fancy from his manner that he had become 
 afraid of his men. Aye, a man might fancy from 
 their behavior that the lot of them aft possessed a 
 sudden fear of the crew. Even the tradesmen were 
 publicly ordered to treat the men with civility. But 
 I didn t fancy they were afraid. I knew better. It 
 was part of the game Swope was playing. 
 
 195 
 
196 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "I took the trick when Nils died," explained 
 Newman, when I asked him what the new program 
 meant, "and now our sweet captain is dealing a new 
 hand, from a cold deck. He is nursing the scum, 
 because this time he will strike through them, instead 
 of through the squareheads." 
 
 By "scum," Newman meant our unsavory mob of 
 stiffs. And indeed they were being "nursed," and 
 without even suspecting it. Inevitably, the un 
 wonted gentleness of the men aft was interpreted as 
 weakness and fear, and of course their stiffs courage 
 mounted and slopped over. Aye, he was a canny 
 brute, was Captain Swope; he knew just how to play 
 such a crowd as we were. And I think he thor 
 oughly enjoyed such a cat-and-mouse game. 
 
 There was valorous talk in the foc sle, and half- 
 veiled insolence on deck. These cringing stiffs began 
 to swank and swagger. They began to bluster 
 openly about what they could do and would do; 
 they began to tell each other how easy it would be 
 to "dump em over, and take charge o the hooker." 
 That s the sort they were. It took bucko methods 
 to keep them decent. 
 
 Blackie and Boston were plainly jubilant over this 
 turn of events. Now they were fairly shrewd men, 
 even if they were damned rascals, and one would 
 have thought they possessed sufficient insight to at 
 least be suspicious of the skipper s sudden bout- 
 face. But they were not. They were just as con 
 vinced as the rest of the stiffs that the afterguard 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 197 
 
 had suddenly become afraid of the foc sle. Just 
 lack of imagination, I suppose; I ve read that it is 
 usually a characteristic of professional criminals. 
 
 They ceased hinting darkly and whispering in 
 corners, and came out flat-footed with their great 
 news. Aye, and it was a weighty argument with 
 the stiffs. Even though they knew about it already 
 as most of them did it was a delight to talk 
 about it openly. There was money in the hooker. 
 That is what made their tongues wag. Aye, money; 
 kegs and kegs of shining trade dollars, aft in the 
 lazaret, to be had for the taking by lads with 
 stiff backbones. And their backbones were stiff 
 enough for the job. So Boston and Blackie told 
 them, so Cockney told them, so they told each- 
 other. 
 
 It surprised me that Newman ignored this state 
 of affairs among the stiffs. He could have clapped 
 stoppers on Boston s and Blackie s jaws by just tell 
 ing them to shut up. They stood in such awe and 
 fear of him. He could have as easily silenced Cock 
 ney; aye, and the gang, too. We all stood in awe 
 of him. There wasn t a man forward who would 
 dream of opposing him openly. 
 
 But Newman was contemptuous of stiffs talk. 
 "Oh, let them blow off steam," says he. "Big talk, 
 small deeds; that s their caliber, Jack. They ll have 
 their sauciness hammered out of them quickly 
 enough when Swope plays his next card." 
 
 "Aye, but what if Blackie and Boston, or that 
 
198 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Cockney, make trouble? They are bossing the 
 stiffs." 
 
 "Those two jail-birds know what I will do ta 
 
 them if they go beyond talk," said Newman. "As 
 
 for that Whitechapel beauty, he is quite harmless,, 
 
 I think. They would not follow him into a fight; 
 
 they know he is scum, like themselves, for all his 
 
 bluster. They would follow me, or you, if we led 
 
 the sailors aft. But so long as the sailors are quiet, 
 
 : there is no danger. That scum would not fight 
 
 alone. And, as you know, our little friend has his 
 
 Norsemen eating out of his hand." 
 
 This last was certainly true. By "our little 
 friend" Newman meant Holy Joe. The square 
 heads idolized him. For one thing, his being a 
 parson gave him, from the beginning, standing with 
 them. They were decent, simple villagers, with an 
 inbred respect for the cloth. But more important, 
 was the service he had rendered their dead ship 
 mate. They were not the men to forget a thing 
 like that, or fail to be impressed by 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 Holy Joe unstinted admiration ; his 
 bravery that day clinched his authority over the 
 squareheads. They would have done almost any 
 thing for him; aye, they loved the little man, and 
 admired him. Yet the stiffs were not much im 
 pressed by what Holy Joe did to the mate. I guess 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 199 
 
 they simply couldn t understand it. But Cockney s 
 trying to stick a knife into the mate s back quite 
 captured their fancy. Aye, that attempted murder 
 was a great deed; it made Cockney their hero. I 
 won t say that the rest of us damned Cockney. We 
 were, after all, foc sle savages, and our hatred of 
 Fitzgibbon was very bitter. But it took the stiffs to 
 honor Cockney for that knife-play. 
 
 Well, Newman might dismiss this fellow with a 
 contemptuous word, but I couldn t. Cockney had 
 become a rival I must reckon with. I didn t like the 
 way he lorded it over the stiffs in my watch, even if 
 the stiffs themselves did like it. I didn t like the 
 noise he made in the starboard foc sle, or the hard 
 case airs he assumed. I was number one bully in 
 niy watch, and intended to remain so. I was, in 
 fact, cock of the crew (Newman excepted, of 
 course) and I thought that Cockney s chesty boast 
 ing was in a way a defiance of me. 
 
 No doubt I was right. As I discovered in time, 
 Cockney had a good reason behind his blatant 
 tongue. It was necessary that he accustom some of 
 the crew, even a few stiffs if no more, to follow his 
 leadership. But he couldn t blow big in his own 
 foc sle, because Holy Joe wouldn t allow it; and 
 he didn t dare lay a curse or a finger on the little 
 parson because he knew if he did the squareheads 
 would jump him in a body. So he ventured into 
 my bailiwick, hoping, I suppose, that the open sup 
 port of Boston and Blackie, his size, which matched 
 
200 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 my own, and his newly got reputation as a bad man 
 with a knife, would bluff me. 
 
 It didn t. His dirty and violent talk sickened 
 and wearied me, and just as soon as I had a reason 
 able pretext I ordered him out of the foc sle. This 
 wasn t as high-handed as it sounds, for Cockney 
 had the gall one afternoon to leave the deck during 
 his watch out, and break into my watch s rest with 
 his obscene gabble. 
 
 He was disposed to dispute my order, and the 
 stiffs backed him up with talk. So I turned out and 
 turned to. I slapped a few stiffs, and threw Cockney 
 through the door. He invited me out on deck, and 
 of course I accepted. We had a nice set-to before 
 all hands. Even the tradesmen 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 tried all of 
 his slum tricks, the knee, the eye-gouge, the Liver 
 pool-butt, and when he found I was up to them, and 
 the stronger man in the clinches, he wanted to call 
 enough. But I was too incensed by this time to let 
 him escape easily, and I battered him all about the 
 foredeck. Finally he turned tail and fled aft. Of 
 course I did not pursue beyond the deck-house. His 
 fleeing the battle really pleased me more than knock 
 ing him out. I felt sure that such an ignominious 
 defeat would cook his goose with the stiffs. 
 
 It did. Boston and Blackie stopped grooming 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 201 
 
 Cockney for mob leader; they had seen that he 
 lacked guts in a pinch, and that finished him with 
 them. The other stiffs still welcomed and admired 
 him (for, although he was a good sailor, he was 
 one of them at heart, and, after all, hadn t he tried 
 to stick the mate?), but he was no longer their 
 hero. Aye, it was quite a fall for Cockney; he lost 
 a lot of face when he ran away from my fists. He 
 kept out of my foc sle thereafter. 
 
 I mentioned that this fight started because Cock 
 ney came into our foc sle during his watch on deck. 
 Now, that illustrates the surprising slackness of dis 
 cipline in the port watch. Just a few days before 
 the mate was ready to shoot Holy Joe for going 
 below during his watch on deck, but he never both 
 ered his head about Cockney s much worse offense. 
 In fact, during these strange days he seemed not to 
 bother his head about anything his men did. He 
 promenaded on the poop during his watches on deck, 
 alone, or arm-in-arm with the captain, and just 
 about left the ship to sail herself. No wonder the 
 stiffs commenced to believe they could take liberties; 
 in fact, they could take them in the mate s watch, 
 and get away with it. 
 
 But they couldn t take liberties in the second 
 mate s watch. You bet they couldn t ! Bucko Lynch 
 curbed his vocabulary and stopped using his fists, 
 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. That made the starboard 
 
202 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 stiffs especially bitter against him. They felt them 
 selves cheated of the easy times Fitzgibbon s men 
 were having. 
 
 But the sailors didn t feel that way about it. 
 They were worried, just as I was. The sailors knew 
 ships as the stiffs did not. They could feel ships. 
 Those dumb squareheads could not reason it out as 
 I could (with Newman s assistance), but they could 
 feel the undercurrent of intrigue. They were glad 
 to escape the thumpings to which the mates had 
 accustomed them; but they were not satisfied with 
 the new order for they could feel that this strange 
 peace was unreal, unhealthful. Aye, the calm before 
 the typhoon. They felt it just as I felt it, just as 
 Nigger felt it. As for pessimistic Nigger, so 
 strictly did he mind his own business these quiet 
 days he was like a dumb man, a silent brown shadow. 
 But he went on sharpening his knife. 
 
 To heighten the squareheads foreboding, and to 
 scare the wits half out of us all, Nils ghost visited 
 the ship. You know what sort of men we were in 
 that foc sle; save Newman and the parson, we were 
 ignorant men, and superstitious. We all believed 
 implicitly in ghosts, I, and the squareheads, Nigger 
 and Cockney, and even the stiffs who had not the 
 sea in their blood. Aye, even Blackie and Boston 
 believed in haunts. It seemed reasonable to us that 
 Nils should come back to the scene of his earthly 
 misery. Reasonable, and fearsome. 
 
 Nils came at night, in the middle watch, always in 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 203 
 
 the middle watch. That circumstance might have 
 aroused suspicion in sceptical minds. But we were 
 not sceptical. 
 
 Lynch had us busy forward this night. Aye, it 
 had become a practice with him to keep us busy in 
 the fore part of the ship during the night watches. 
 One of his tradesmen, Connolly, kept the poop 
 watch for him. No, we did not think this arrange 
 ment odd; we worked too hard to think. 
 
 Newman had the first wheel. At four bells, a lad 
 named Oscar went aft to relieve the big fellow. A 
 moment later he reappeared forward, wild-eyed and 
 spluttering his own lingo. Oh, he was a frightened 
 squarehead. All we could understand of his speech 
 was the word "Nils." 
 
 The word was enough. We didn t need the com 
 motion and consternation among Oscar s country 
 men 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 gone aft 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 to face a ghost than disobey Bucko 
 Lynch. That is what the rest of us thought, too. 
 We were all afraid to go aft, but more afraid not 
 to. So we huddled close upon the second mate s 
 
204 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 heels, and clumped noisily upon the deck, as though 
 to rout the wraith with our racket. 
 
 Perhaps our racket did send Nils away. It cer 
 tainly aroused the men sleeping in the cabin, and the 
 roundhouse. But we saw Newman at the helm, not 
 Nils. 
 
 "Well, m son, where s your ghost?" demanded 
 Mister Lynch. 
 
 Oscar was still too frightened to muster his scant 
 English, *but Lindquist talked for him. "He say 
 like dis, sir, Nils ban at da wheel when he koom aft, 
 oond den he yump vrom der wheel oond run for ard 
 yust like da time da captain thoomp him." 
 
 "Rot!" says Lynch. "My man, have you per 
 mitted a ghost stand your trick at the wheel?" This 
 last to Newman. 
 
 "Hardly a ghost, sir," answered Newman. We 
 could not see his face, but from his tone I knew he 
 was smiling. "Do I look like one ? Not yet, I hope. 
 I was just about to turn over the wheel to the lad, 
 sir, when he shied at the shadow of the mizzen 
 stays l I think and rushed away for ard." 
 
 "What is wrong, Mister?" inquired the captain s 
 soft voice. Aye, we all jumped as if it were the 
 ghost talking. Captain Swope, with Mister Fitz- 
 gibbon behind him, had popped up from below as 
 quietly as if he were a ghost. 
 
 "Nothing wrong, Captain," replied Mister Lynch. 
 "One of my jaspers declared he saw the little square 
 head s ghost dancing about the poop, and now the 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 205 
 
 lot of them have nerves. I brought them aft to 
 teach them better in a peaceful way." 
 
 This was a straight dig at the Old Man s "be 
 gentle" orders, but it didn t pierce his skin. Swope 
 laughed, genuinely amused, his soft, rippling laugh 
 that always frightened us so much. "Peaceful, eh? 
 By the Lord, Mister, it sounded like an army over 
 head. And it was no more than a ghost!" He 
 peered aft, and discerned Newman at the wheel, 
 recognizing him by bulk, I guess, for the binnacle 
 lights were half shuttered and Newman s face in 
 visible. But I m sure he recognized him, for he 
 pursed his lips in a way I had seen him do before 
 when he looked at Newman. He strolled away for 
 ward, to the break of the poop, glancing this way 
 and that, and back again to the hatch. "If it were 
 moonlight, I d say your man was touched," says he 
 to Lynch. "But I suppose he was half asleep and 
 dreaming." 
 
 "I ll wake him up and work the dreams out of 
 him," promised Mister Lynch. 
 
 "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. But all 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 
 
206 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 he stood in the light that streamed 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 walking about, we 
 living men would be crowded into the sea." With 
 that he went below, laughing, as though he had just 
 made a fine joke, and leaving us more frightened 
 than ever. 
 
 The mate went below again also, but he wasn t 
 laughing. We sensed that the news worried Fitz- 
 gibbon, and that strengthened our conviction. 
 Blackjack Fitzgibbon had cause for worry. So 
 we thought. Wasn t it he, as well as Swope, who 
 mishandled the boy to his death? 
 
 That ended the scene aft. Oscar relieved the 
 wheel ; he had to. Lynch put the rest of us to work 
 again, and during the balance of the watch we saw 
 ghosts in every corner. 
 
 When we went below at eight bells, we held a 
 grand talk in the foc sle, a parliament that practi 
 cally all hands attended. Aye, we were quite con 
 vinced that the ghost was abroad. Oscar stuck to 
 his yarn, and embellished it, and left no room in our 
 minds for doubt. Newman laughed at us, and 
 denied the presence of a spook on the poop; that 
 done he turned in and slept. But his evidence 
 didn t shake our belief. Oscar gave too many par 
 ticulars. 
 
 The compass had not been shuttered when he 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 207 
 
 went aft to relieve the wheel, and he had seen Nils 
 standing in the light. He couldn t be mistaken. 
 "Yust as plain like a picture." He knew him by his 
 boyish stature, by his beardless features, by his 
 clothes. He was wearing his Scotch-plaid coat and 
 red tam-o -shanter; Oscar couldn t be mistaken in 
 them, 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 cap had hung on the wall oppo 
 site Nils bunk all during his illness. He was very 
 proud of these colorful garments. Of course, we 
 told each other, he would appear in them after death. 
 And, of course, he was bound to come back. Didn t 
 murdered men always come back? So we assured 
 each other; and the older men began spinning yarns 
 about other ghosts in other ships. Aye, we talked 
 so much we were afraid to turn in. Captain Swope s 
 words about the ghost crew in the Golden Bough 
 impressed us mightily. We told each other that 
 many men must have died cruel deaths in this no 
 torious hooker ; very likely Nils spirit was but one of 
 many. Some of the lads recalled mysteries of the 
 night that they had encountered in this ship, shadowy 
 things melting into darkness, strange noises, and the 
 like ; and always they had seen or heard these things 
 aft, around the break of the poop or beneath the 
 boat skids in just about the spot where Nils had 
 been beaten up, first by the skipper and then by the 
 
208 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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 insisted they saw and heard things that 
 were not right or natural. The night following in 
 the midwatch our midwatch half the watch 
 swore they saw him flit across the main deck and dis 
 appear behind the roundhouse. 
 
 The next night marked Nils last and most start 
 ling appearance. In the heart of the middle watch, 
 while my mates were sound asleep, the ghost walked 
 into the empty port foc sle. 
 
 That is, the port foc sle should have been empty, 
 since the mate had the watch out. But it happened 
 that Nigger, coming from the wheel, seized an op 
 portunity to slip into the deserted room for a quiet 
 smoke-O. It was a liberty he was safe in taking, 
 now that the bucko mate had reformed. 
 
 My bunk in the starboard foc sle was handy to 
 the door connecting the two rooms, and when he 
 burst terror-stricken through that door my uncon 
 scious head was right in front of him. I awakened 
 abruptly to discover Nigger clawing my hair; aye, 
 and when I looked up and saw his convulsed face 
 and gleaming, bulging eyes, I knew at once he had 
 seen Nils. 
 
 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 209 
 
 nevertheless I turned out promptly. I had to. 
 Other men were waking up. Even Newman, in the 
 bunk opposite, had his eyes open; and he was re 
 garding me in a very curious way. So I couldn t 
 hold back. I was bully of the crowd, and I would 
 not let the crowd think I was afraid to face any 
 thing, even a ghost. 
 
 Out I rolled, and into the doorway I stepped. 
 There I stopped. God s truth, I was frozen to the 
 spot with terror. For Nils shadow lay athwart the 
 floor of the port fo sle, his moving shadow. It was 
 this shadow coming in through the deck door that 
 had frightened Nigger. He recognized the shadow 
 as Nils because a tam-o -shanter crowned the sil 
 houette, and Nils had owned the only tarn 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 was so 
 white and small, a patch of plaid cloth, a little bare, 
 white foot lifting above the sill, and then the tarn 
 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 Newman pushed past me and 
 crossed the port foc sle in a bound. He joined the 
 white face in the other doorway, and disappeared 
 with it into the outer darkness. 
 
 Not a man save I and Newman had had nerve 
 enough to turn out. Not a man save I and New 
 man had seen that white face. Even Nigger had 
 
210 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 not seen it; he had run out on deck through the 
 starboard door. But my watch-mates were awake 
 and eager. "Is it gone?" they chorused. 
 
 "Yes," I answered gruffly. I rolled into my bunk, 
 and turned my face to the wall. My wits were still 
 spinning from shock, and I didn t want to 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 I The ghost that had scared all hands 
 was the lady dressed in Nils clothes ! 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE lady brought Newman bad news. As I 
 afterwards learned, the steward overheard 
 a conversation between the captain and the 
 mate, and reported it to her, and she immediately 
 risked her masquerade forward to carry the 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 New 
 man at the wheel, did I see any indications of a 
 coming breach of the afterguard s own peace. I 
 sensed it then, before I saw it. Aye, as soon as I 
 stepped upon the poop I smelled the old air. The 
 very carriage of the officers said that the old 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 him a score of questions and 
 directions. 
 
 But I was chained to my task. I dare not leave 
 
 211 
 
212 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the wheel. Neither dare I call out. For Captain 
 Swope had appeared on deck. He stood lounging 
 against the companion hatch, staring aft, in our di 
 rection. Bucko Fitzgibbon stood by his side. They 
 had suddenly appeared from below as the helm was 
 changing hands. 
 
 Aye, and as soon as I clapped eyes upon them I 
 knew that at last hell was about to bubble over. 
 They had thrown off the masks of meekness that so 
 ill fitted them. Fitzgibbon was truculence per 
 sonified. The expression in Swope s face when he 
 looked at Newman was so terrible it might almost 
 of itself make a lad stop breathing an expression 
 of gloating, pitiless, triumphant cruelty. 
 
 Lynch, in charge of the deck, stood apart from 
 the others, but he too was looking aft, not at me, 
 but at Newman. There was something in his bear 
 ing also which declared plainly that some ugly thing 
 was about to happen. 
 
 Yet Newman was permitted to pass the com 
 panion hatch without interference. In fact, the pair 
 turned their backs to him. I had, for an instant, the 
 wild hope that Newman was mistaken in his fears. 
 But only for an instant. Because, when Newman 
 neared the forward end of the poop, the two trades 
 men of the port watch suddenly popped up from 
 the ladder and confronted him. Sails carried a 
 sawed-off shotgun in the crook of his arm, and Chips 
 had a pair of handcuffs dangling in his grasp. 
 
 Newman stopped short Who would not, with 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 213 
 
 the muzzle of a shotgun carelessly pointed at his 
 breast? No order to halt was needed. 
 
 Suddenly I saw through the skipper s game. Aye, 
 and the devilish craft of it horrified me, and wrung 
 a cry of warning from my throat. For when New 
 man halted, Swope and Fitzgibbon turned towards 
 him, and, while Swope continued to lounge against 
 the hatch, the mate closed in behind Newman, and 
 I saw a revolver in his hand. At the same time, the 
 man with the shotgun said something to Newman, 
 something that angered the big fellow, I could 
 tell from the way his shoulders humped and his 
 body tensed. Squarely behind him stood the 
 mate. 
 
 Oh, it was a clever murder Yankee Swope had 
 planned, a safe murder ! If Newman made any mo 
 tion that could be interpreted as resisting arrest, and 
 was shot in the back and killed why, the officer who 
 shot him was performing 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 
 ashore would look at it. 
 
 The second mate saw through the scheme, also. 
 I am sure he had no previous knowledge of it, for 
 an expression of surprise and consternation showed 
 in his face, and he threw up his arm in a warning 
 gesture. But it was I who warned Newman. I 
 sang out lustily, 
 
 "Look out behind you!" 
 
 Newman looked behind him. He threw back his 
 
214. THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 head and laughed. It amused him to see the mate 
 standing there so sheepishly, with his pistol in his 
 hand. But I did not laugh, for Yankee Swope was 
 staring at 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 for it 
 with that warning shout. 
 
 But if Newman laughed, he did not venture to 
 move. He, too, saw through the skipper s plan, and 
 by his action promptly defeated it. He laughed, 
 but he also elevated his hands above his head to 
 show his unarmed condition and his pacific intent. 
 Then, ignoring the mate, he spoke to Captain 
 Swope. 
 
 "Am I to consider myself under arrest, Cap 
 tain?" 
 
 Swope turned his face to the speaker, and glad 
 I was to be free of his gaze. He was a furious man 
 that moment; I could see him biting his lips, and 
 clenching and unclenching his hands from excess of 
 anger. Yet he answered Newman in a soft, even 
 voice, and in the same half-bantering vein the big 
 fellow had used. He was a strong man, was Swope; 
 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 am unarmed, and eager to obey 
 all legal commands of my captain. Shall I lower 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 215 
 
 my arms, and permit this gentleman to fasten the 
 irons upon my wrists?" 
 
 "No less eager to break into limbo, than to break 
 out of it eh?" commented the captain. "Yes, I 
 grant you permission to be handcuffed but not that 
 way ! turn around, and place your hands together 
 behind your back." 
 
 Newman promptly complied with the directions, 
 and the carpenter stepped forward and slipped on 
 the cuffs. 
 
 "Lock those irons tightly, Connolly," Swope di 
 rected the tradesman. "We have to deal with a 
 desperate man, a tricky man, a damned jail-bird, 
 Connolly. Squeeze those irons down upon his 
 wrists. It doesn t matter if they pinch him." 
 
 From where I stood I could not see, but I could 
 imagine the steel rings biting cruelly into my friend s 
 flesh. I felt a rage against the captain which over 
 came the sick fear of what he might do to me. But 
 my rage was impotent; it could not help Newman. 
 
 Mister Lynch tried to help him; and by his ac 
 tion indicated plainly what was his position in the 
 matter of the arrest. He crossed the deck, and 
 examined the prisoner s wrists. 
 
 "These irons are too tight, and will torture the 
 man," he said to the captain. "In my judgment, 
 sir, it is not necessary to secure him in this fashion." 
 
 "In my judgment it is," was Swope s bland re 
 sponse. Then he added, "And now, Mister Fitz- 
 gibbon, and you, Mister Lynch if you will escort 
 
216 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 this mutinous scoundrel below to the cabin, I ll see 
 that this affair is properly entered in the logbook, 
 and then we will put him in a place where he cannot 
 work further mischief. Connolly, you and your 
 mate may go for ard." 
 
 A moment later I was alone on the poop. So 
 quickly and quietly had the affair been managed that 
 none of the watch on deck seemed to be aware of it. 
 They were busied about the fore part of the ship at 
 the various jobs Lynch had set them to. But the 
 tradesmen of the watch were not in sight, and I had 
 no doubt they were forewarned, and had joined the 
 port watch 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 and informed the watch, the 
 afterguard would reach me and squelch my voice 
 long before my mates could lay aft. And indeed, 
 laying aft in a body was 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 murmur of 
 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 to the edge of the skylights. 
 
 I could peek into only a narrow section of the 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 217 
 
 saloon, for I did not dare shove my face into the 
 opening. They would have seen me. But I could 
 hear every voice, every word, and my ears gave 
 me an accurate picture of the scene below. 
 
 The first voice I heard was the voice of one of 
 my foc sle mates, and he was giving testimony 
 against Newman. 
 
 " E was in the syl-locker mykin hup to *er," the 
 speaker said, "an tellin as ow Vd lead the crew 
 arft, and kill the hofficers, and tyke charge imself. 
 That s wot e says, s elp me!" 
 
 "Ah, yes, he was making up to her, eh? And 
 plotting mutiny? And my wife lent herself to such 
 a scheme, did she?" This came in Swope s voice, 
 soft, purring, the very tone an insult. "So my wife 
 was in the sail-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 my 
 self away by craning my head to see the speaker. 
 For this was the lady s voice, hot with anger and 
 resentment and 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 cap 
 tain, with a savage edge to his words. "This is a 
 man s business, madam! Return to your room at 
 once. Mister Fitzgibbon, take her to her room! * 
 
 There was the sound of movement below. A 
 chair scraped. Then Lynch s voice rang out sharply, 
 
218 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Stop that, Fitz!" The lady s voice said, "You 
 need not touch me, I am going." A second later she 
 spoke again, from a different point, and I judged her 
 to be in the doorway of her stateroom. "You, at 
 least, Mister Lynch, will bear witness that I deny 
 these charges against myself and against against 
 him. They are lies. This spy is lying, my husband 
 is lying. I know the truth. Do you hear me, 
 Angus? I know the truth, and you cannot silence 
 me with lies!" A door closed. 
 
 "Now we will continue our examination," said 
 Captain Swope. 
 
 Just then I heard a faint slatting of canvas aloft. 
 I sped for the wheel, and when, an instant later, the 
 tradesman, Morton, poked his head above the level 
 of the poop, and looked aft, I had the ship steady 
 again. Morton s head disappeared, and after wait 
 ing a few moments to make sure he did not intend 
 coming up on the poop, I returned to the skylight. 
 
 My precious shipmate was talking again. "Hi 
 card im sy in the Knitting 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 to say to that, New 
 man?" 
 
 For the first time I heard my friend s voice. His 
 words were cool, contemptuous. Aye, they heart 
 ened me; they told me he was far from being de 
 feated. 
 
 "The rat lies, of course, as all of you know." 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 219 
 
 "And you say that Newman has persistently en 
 deavored to stir up the crew 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 hit to us." 
 
 "Now I know that is a lie," broke in Lynch. The 
 second mate s voice was also contemptuous, but not 
 cool; I could tell he was excited and angry. "I ve 
 watched this crowd, Captain; I know them like I 
 know the back of my hand. This man, Newman, is 
 the best sailor for ard, and the strongest influence 
 for peace. He, and the little Holy Joe the crimp 
 gave us, prevented a riot the night the boy died. I 
 know this fellow is lying, Captain!" 
 
 "That will do, Mister Lynch," exclaimed Swope. 
 "I did not ask your opinion in this matter. I would 
 suggest, sir, that it is your watch on deck, 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 not be 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 this case," said Lynch. 
 
 "That will do, sir; go on deck!" was the cap 
 tain s command. 
 
 I was at the wheel, and the ship was on her course, 
 
220 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 when the second mate appeared. Oh, but he was 
 in a towering rage ! He stamped the deck like a full 
 watch. He sang out to me, "Damn your eye, man, 
 watch your wheel; the wake is like a snake s track!" 
 I answered meekly, u Yes, sir," and held her nose 
 true. He looked at me sharply, and I knew that 
 he guessed what I had been up to. But he said noth 
 ing 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 dare leave the wheel while 
 Mister Lynch was on deck. But I was easier in my 
 mind concerning Newman s fate, for what I had 
 overheard convinced me the big fellow stood in no 
 immediate danger of his life. That Swope meant to 
 kill, I had not the least doubt Newman, himself, 
 said as much but the time was not ripe for that 
 act 
 
 So I occupied myself with thoughts about the 
 traitor in the crew. At that moment Captain Swope 
 was not the only man on board with murder in his 
 heart! My fingers pressed the spokes as though 
 they had hold of the Cockney s throat. 
 
 I cursed myself for a stupid fool not to have 
 known Cockney was the spy. I should have known. 
 He was that sort, a bully and a boot-licker by turns. 
 In the foc sle he was more violent than any other in 
 his denunciation of the buckos; on deck he cringed 
 before them. He had always fawned upon New 
 man, but I suspected he hated my friend, because of 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 221 
 
 what happened in the Knitting Swede s. But I had 
 not suspected him of treachery to his foc sle mates, 
 because he was an old sailor and a good one, and 
 there were plenty of stiffs on board more fitted, I 
 thought, for spy s work. But Cockney was the man. 
 I could not mistake his voice for another s. He was 
 even now down below bearing false witness 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 that he was 
 probably locked up with the rats in the lazaret. I 
 promised myself I would have a heart-to-heart talk 
 with Cockney just as soon as eight 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 was unusual, a break in routine, 
 for it was not customary to call the crew aft at the 
 close of the day watches. Moreover, the men were 
 herded aft by the tradesmen, who were armed. 
 Mister Lynch came up on the poop, and was ob 
 viously taking no part in the proceedings. Oh, it 
 was the end of the easy times, and all hands knew it. 
 
 When the men were collected by the main mast, 
 the little parson was plucked out of the crowd and 
 ushered into the cabin, where the skipper and the 
 mate awaited him. Aye, that was the reason for 
 the muster; Holy Joe must be punished for his de- 
 
222 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 fiance of Fitzgibbon. Five minutes after he entered 
 the cabin, he was thrown out upon the deck, bruised, 
 bleeding and unconscious, and his mates were told to 
 pick him up and carry 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. I saw 
 it in his eyes, in his face and carriage. He looked 
 and behaved just as he had that day he attacked 
 Nils. He looked at me with a bright, 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 I let it go, would, I 
 knew, master both fear and caution. I kept repeat 
 ing to myself during the few minutes of grace al 
 lowed me, "I must not lose my temper, I must not 
 lose my temper." For if I did lose my temper, and 
 defy my masters with fist and tongue, I knew I 
 should be beaten until I was physically disabled, per 
 haps fatally disabled. And then who would hold 
 the crew in check, who would labor to save New 
 man? 
 
 The Cockney came aft to relieve the wheel. There 
 was a smirk on his face, and a swagger in his walk, 
 as he came along the lee side of the poop. I no 
 ticed him leer confidentially at the mate, as he passed 
 that worthy. That Cockney thought himself a very 
 clever fellow, no doubt, having been taken into the 
 confidence of the ship s masters, having been as- 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 223 
 
 signed to do their secret dirty work. It was all I 
 could do to keep from flying at his throat, when he 
 came within reach of my arms. 
 
 He murmured some hypocritical words as he 
 stepped into my place. He was a good dissembler. 
 
 "My heye, but poor Oly Joe caught it," says he. 
 "They bloomin near skinned 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 
 
 "1^ TOT so fast, my lad. I think I should like 
 
 . ^w to look you over." 
 
 These were the words with which Cap 
 tain Swope arrested my progress. He had 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 play with his prey. Such 
 teasing gave him pleasure. 
 
 I stopped, of course, and turned, and faced him. 
 Never did Captain Swope remind me more of a cat 
 than that instant, when I met his glittering, pitiless 
 eyes, and saw his smiling, red-lipped mouth, and lis 
 tened to his soft, purring voice. I was his mouse, 
 helpless, trapped. God s truth, I felt like one ! 
 
 He looked me over slowly, from head to foot. 
 The mate walked around behind me, and I knew 
 the attack would come from that direction. Swope 
 knew that I knew it; that is why he held my eyes to 
 the front with his deliberate and insulting inspec 
 tion. The cat and the mouse he would enjoy 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. 
 224 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 225 
 
 "Shreve? Now, what signboard did you rob? 
 Shreve is a good name, too good for a foc sle rat. 
 Did you come by it honestly ? Did you have a father 
 by that name? I dare say not. A gutter product 
 would not know his father, eh, my lad?" 
 
 There was no mistaking the deliberate intent of 
 the insult, or its foul meaning. Despite my efforts, 
 I felt the blood in my cheeks, and my fingers clenched 
 of their own accord. I thought how white was 
 Yankee Swope s neck, and how near, and how easily 
 I could reach out and choke the 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 above my own. 
 
 The thing which saved me was the glimpse of a 
 cold, speculative gleam in my tormentor s eyes. It 
 was the mere shadow of an expression, but it acted 
 like cold water upon my hot thoughts. I divined, 
 suddenly, that something more than sport was be 
 hind the captain s insults. He wanted me to blow 
 up in a great rage, and attack him, or the mate. I 
 suddenly knew this was so, and the danger of my 
 losing my temper was past. 
 
 I lowered my eyes, afraid their expression would 
 betray my knowledge, and said submissively, "Yes, 
 sir, I guess so, sir." 
 
 "I was told you had a long tongue, but you do 
 not seem very glib this minute," Captain Swope went 
 on. "You ve taken a reef in it, eh, Shreve?" 
 
 I said, u Yes, sir." 
 
226 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "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 not venture a reply. 
 
 "So now you have put your tongue in gaskets," he 
 commented, after a pause. "Too bad you didn t do 
 it before. A long tongue is a very bad habit, my 
 lad, and I do not allow my hands to have bad habits. 
 I correct them sol" 
 
 He struck me then, not a heavy, stunning blow, 
 but a short-armed, slashing uppercut, which ripped 
 the flesh of my cheek, and sent me stumbling back 
 wards against the mate s body. I took that blow 
 meekly, I took Fitzgibbon s harder blow meekly. I 
 stood there and let the two of them pummel me, 
 and knock me down and kick me, and I made no 
 show of resistance. I buried my head in my arms, 
 and drew up my knees, and let them 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 shoot 
 ing pains. I took it meekly. I tried to guard my 
 vitals, and my addled, star-riddled wits clung to the 
 one idea "I must not lose my temper!" 
 
 I took my medicine. I did not lift a hand against 
 them. I grovelled on the deck like a cur, and did 
 not fight back. 
 
 It was hard to behave like that. It was the hard 
 est thing I had ever done keeping my temper, and 
 taking that beating without show of resistance. I 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 227 
 
 was a fighting animal; never before in my life had I 
 tamely turned the other cheek. Long afterwards 
 I came to realize that those few moments, during 
 which I lay on the deck and felt their boots thud 
 into my flesh, were educative moments of vital im 
 portance in my growth into manhood. I was learn 
 ing self-control ; it was being literally kicked into me. 
 It was a lesson I needed, no doubt but, oh, it was 
 a bitter, 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 a distance, instead of 
 bending over me. 
 
 "There s no fight Ln this rat," he said. "Might as 
 well boot him off the poop, Mister, and let him 
 crawl into his hole. He s not dangerous, and the 
 ship needs him as beef." 
 
 No sooner said than done. I had obligingly saved 
 them the trouble of booting me very far, for I had 
 been inching myself forward ever since the on 
 slaught. When the captain spoke, I was almost at 
 the head of the ladder to the main deck an instant 
 after he spoke, I was lying on the main deck at the 
 foot of the poop ladder, and all the stars in the 
 universe were dancing before my eyes. 
 
 I got dizzily to my hands and knees, and then to 
 my feet, and staggered forward. Captain Swope s 
 soft voice followed me. 
 
 "Next time reef your tongue before you open your 
 mouth!" he called. 
 
228 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 I made my way into the foc sle, and my watch- 
 mates grabbed me, and swabbed and kneaded my 
 hurts, and swore their sympathy. My injuries were 
 not very severe some nasty gashes about the head 
 and face, and innumerable bruises upon the body. 
 Fortunately I was in no way disabled. My bones 
 were intact. I was in far better case, they told me, 
 than poor Holy Joe. He was lying in his bunk un 
 conscious, that very moment; he had a broken arm, 
 and most of his teeth were gone. 
 
 I saw at once that the men were quite wild with 
 rage and anxiety. From the sounds that came in the 
 foc sle door, I knew that the mate was hazing his 
 men. Aye, he was going after them in the good old 
 way, quite as if there 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 
 watch how 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 devil 
 ish cunning of Captain Swope. He knew what the 
 effect would be upon the minds of the men of slacken 
 ing his hell-ship discipline, and then, when the habit 
 of passive endurance was weakened, suddenly tight 
 ening the reins. He knew that then the bit would 
 be well nigh unendurable. Oh, Swope had calculated 
 shrewdly; he foresaw the effect not only of an out 
 burst of promiscuous brutality, but of the arrest of 
 Newman, and the beating up of Holy Joe. 
 
 I could see the effect at a glance. The stiffs were 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 229 
 
 panicky. These valorous stiffs were glowering, 
 really dangerous at last. The squareheads were 
 hysterical with rage. The squareheads knew why 
 Holy Joe had suffered because of them, because of 
 Nils. Because of Newman, too, but they did not 
 guess that. Then, the knowledge that Newman was 
 trapped was a heavy blow to sailors and stiffs alike. 
 They had all, consciously or unconsciously, depended 
 upon Newman s sane strength. With him taken 
 from 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 my mates faces, just as quickly 
 as the ringing in my ears subsided, and I could hear 
 their voices, I knew that the moment was past when 
 the peace could be kept in that foc sle. Perhaps 
 Newman could have composed the crowd, but I 
 doubt it. The captain had succeeded in driving them 
 too far and too hard, in frightening them too much. 
 He had won, I thought despairingly; he would get 
 his mutiny. 
 
 For it was now the elemental instinct of self- 
 preservation that swayed the men and determined 
 their actions. Oh, there was plenty of sympathy 
 for me, and for Holy Joe and Newman; there was 
 rage on our account; but underlying the sympathy 
 and rage was a very terrible fear. It was a fear of 
 death, a fear that each man felt for himself. Self- 
 preservation, that s it! 
 
 My shipmates, sailors and stiffs, had reached a 
 
230 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 point where they were afraid not to take some 
 violent and illegal action against the men in com 
 mand of the ship. Their long misuse, the wrongs 
 and indignities each man had suffered, the fate of 
 Nils, the events of the afternoon, had all culminated 
 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 before the men aft killed 
 them ! There were other factors at work, of course, 
 greed for gold and lust of revenge, but this simple, 
 primal fear for their 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 the stiffs, named Green. 
 And he voiced the common feeling. 
 
 I was, of course, much concerned for the parson. 
 I went into the port foc sle to look at him and he 
 looked bad, lying there unconscious. The square 
 heads 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 iron muscles, to withstand hard knocks, nor my 
 skill in rough-and-tumble fighting, 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 get her for ard," I declared. 
 
 "No chance," answered Boston. 
 
 "If we take him aft dey ban kill him," asserted 
 one of the squareheads. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 231 
 
 "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," said Boston. 
 
 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 was helpin the steward 
 break out a cask o beef from the lazaret, when they 
 brought Big Un into the cabin, cuffed up, and with 
 the drop on him. He says the hen squawked, and 
 the Old Man shut her in her room. Then they 
 kicked 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 to croak 
 him sure, and if we got any guts we ll go aft to 
 night and turn him loose. That s what Cockney 
 says." 
 
 Well, I let myself go, verbally. I said things 
 about that Cockney, and I was only sorry Cockney 
 was not there to hear them. I knew most of the 
 hard words of three languages, and I used them all. 
 Oh, it was a relief to give even verbal release to the 
 ocean of hate and rage in my soul I I told the crowd 
 what I thought of Cockney. Then I told them why. 
 I told them what had really happened in the cabin, 
 what Cockney really was. 
 
232 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 They believed me. They knew me ; they knew I 
 would not lie in such a case, they could not help 
 but sense the sincerity of my loathing. They knew 
 Cockney, also. They knew he was the sort to spy 
 and perjure a good many of them were that sort 
 themselves! and as soon as I paused for breath, 
 this man and that began to recall certain suspicious 
 acts of Cockney he had noticed. Aye, they believed 
 me, and the curses heaped on Cockney 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 and voices 
 of the stiffs. I knew very well what frightened them. 
 Cockney had been most violent and outspoken 
 among those advocating mutiny, far more outspoken 
 than the cautious Blackie or Boston, and the dis 
 affected had naturally confided in him. I knew that 
 every man in the crew who had expressed a willing 
 ness to revolt was known by name to Cockney (and 
 without doubt to Yankee Swope) and these men 
 now could not escape the feeling that they were 
 marked men. If anything had been needed to settle 
 the conviction of the foc sle that mutiny was neces 
 sary, this unmasking of 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 reason coolly. 
 Oh, I reasoned about it a little while later, not coolly 
 perhaps, but certainly quickly, and leaped helter- 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 233 
 
 skelter to a momentous decision. But just then I 
 thought about Holy Joe. 
 
 I wanted to get his arm set, and his body exam 
 ined. I, myself, was not competent to do either. 
 The squarehead had spoken truth it would be mad 
 ness to carry the man aft for treatment; and I 
 judged Cockney had spoken truly, too, when he said 
 the lady was locked up. That agreed with what I, 
 myself, had heard. I appealed to the crowd. 
 
 "We ve got to get Holy Joe fixed up. Any of 
 you know anything about bone setting? Who ll 
 lend a hand?" 
 
 To my surprise, Boston volunteered. "I worked 
 in a hospital once," he said. 
 
 He set to work immediately in an efficient, busi 
 nesslike manner. I was astonished. His fingers 
 were as deft though not as gentle as Newman s. 
 I thought, as I tore a blanket into strips, under his 
 direction, how characteristic it was of the fellow to 
 let a hurt shipmate lie unattended when he possessed 
 the skill to help him. Aye, that was the sort of scut 
 Boston was ! 
 
 "A clean break; no trick to set it," he announced, 
 after examining the arm. Nor was it. We cut up 
 a bunkboard for splints, used the blanket for band 
 ages, and triced the injured member in short order. 
 Boston was deft; but he didn t try to spare his pa 
 tient any pain; when he snapped the ends of the 
 bone together, Holy Joe came out of his swoon with 
 a cry of agony. 
 
234 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 He half raised himself, and looked at us. "Let 
 there be no trouble, boys for God s sake, no fight 
 ing!" he said. Then he fainted away again. 
 
 We undressed him, and Boston pronounced his 
 ribs sound. Then we carried him into the starboard 
 foc sle, and placed him in my bunk, which had a 
 comfortable mattress. 
 
 "Now you see what he got?" said Boston, wiping 
 his hands on his greasy pants. "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?" added Blackie. 
 
 I sized them up. Sailors and stiffs, they stood 
 shoulder to shoulder. There was no longer a divi 
 sion in that crowd. And they looked to me to lead 
 them. 
 
 I was thinking, desperately trying to discover a 
 course that would help Newman. 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?" retorted Boston. "Now, here s 
 the lay, Shreve we got to put a stop to this sort o 
 work." He pointed to the bunk that held Holy 
 Joe. "That means we got to take charge of this 
 hooker," he went on. "All hands are agreed 
 to it. But where do you stand with us, or against 
 us?" 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 235 
 
 I made my plea for peace, knowing beforehand 
 it was useless. "How about Newman?" I said. 
 "You know as well as I that the skipper is out to 
 kill him. And I have Newman s word for it that 
 the Old Man wants to kill the lady, too. He s just 
 waiting for an excuse. That s why he s dressing us 
 down this way, and hazing us raw so we ll mutiny, 
 and give him the excuse 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. The Old Man will not 
 dare do it unless we give him the chance by attacking 
 the cabin, because Lynch would testify against him 
 at the Inquiry. The Old Man has logged Newman 
 as a mutineer, and our going aft would make him 
 out 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 had felt the weight of the sec 
 ond mate s fist. 
 
 "Lynch for us? By God, when I have my knife 
 in his gullet then he ll be for us!" swore Blackie, 
 and the chorus of approval which followed this 
 statement showed what the rest thought. 
 
 "The last thing Newman said to me, when I re 
 lieved him," I went on, "was a command to prevent 
 this trouble. He said his life, and hers, depended 
 on our keeping quiet." 
 
236 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "And how about us, how about our lives?" de 
 manded Boston. "That damned murderer 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 to it and we want to know if 
 you are with us?" 
 
 I tried sarcasm. "I suppose you ll end it by 
 walking aft and letting them empty their shotguns 
 into you! I suppose you ll chase them overboard, 
 guns and all, with your cute little knives, and your 
 belaying-pins ! Good Lord, men, have you gone 
 crazy? If I hadn t overheard Cockney, I suppose 
 he d have led you aft, and got half of you filled with 
 shot. As it is, they know you are talking mutiny, 
 and they will be expecting you. You can t surprise 
 them and what can you do against their guns?" 
 
 Blackie cursed Cockney in a way to curdle the 
 blood. Then he made plain the fear that was driv 
 ing 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 the man, Green. 
 
 "And the money, too!" added Blackie, artfully. 
 "Enough of it aft there to set us all up for gents." 
 
 Boston plucked me by the sleeve. "Me and Jack 
 are goin to have a few words private," says he to 
 the rest. "He s with us no fear a feller like 
 Jack Shreve stands by his mates. Come on, Jack." 
 
 I went with him willingly. I was anxious to hear 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 237 
 
 what he had to say "private." I was even more 
 anxious to get away from the crowd for a few mo 
 ments, and think out some scheme whereby I could 
 avert the impending catastrophe. 
 
 Boston led me up on the foc sle head, and we sat 
 down upon an anchor stock. 
 
 "We ain t such fools as you think, Blackie and 
 me," he commenced abruptly. "We ain t goin to 
 face guns with knives not us. But guns to guns 
 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, I felt something hard, of ir 
 regular shape, beneath the thin cloth, the outline of 
 a revolver. 
 
 "It ain t the only one," he assured me. "Two 
 brace we came on board with and we weren t 
 drunk, you bet. We hid them safe before them 
 fellers aft went through the dunnage. And Cockney 
 didn t find out about them, either. They don t know 
 aft that we re heeled. The rest o the gang ain t 
 acquainted with the fact yet, either. We ll let them 
 know when 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 face shotguns with sheath- 
 knives is a pretty tough gang, ain t it? And it ll be 
 a lot tougher when it finds out it has four guns of its 
 
238 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 own, and plenty 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 none about that," went on Boston. 
 "This ain t the first gun-play me and Blackie 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 aft like the Cockney 
 wanted us to. We re goin to lay low, behind cover, 
 and pick em off the mates, and old Swope, too, if 
 he shows his blasted head. Then, where will them 
 sailmakers and carpenters be, with their boss gone? 
 They ll be rattled, they ll be up Battle Creek, that s 
 where they ll be. We can rush em then. And if 
 a few of our fellers swaller lead why, there ll be 
 the fewer to share the swag." 
 
 "Newman " I began. 
 
 "We ll do the best we can for Big Un," says Bos 
 ton. "We need him. We ll try and get the Old 
 Man first pop and if we have decent luck plunkin 
 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 and 
 Blackie and me could all be against it, and still 
 they d go aft. They re goin to get Swope before 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 239 
 
 Swope gets more o them. And if it s Big Un 
 you re worryin about why, we got to do this to 
 save him. Look here let me give you a tip, if the 
 Big Un hasn t: When Big Un come on board this 
 ship he found out somethin from the skipper s Moll 
 that he wanted to find out, and now, if he gets ashore 
 alive with what he found out, there ll be a sheriff s 
 necktie party for Yankee Swope. That s what all 
 this bloody business has been about. You can lay 
 your last cent that Swope 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 weapon from 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 and Blackie could plan and 
 instigate. But they could not lead that crowd. The 
 sailors despised them, the stiffs hated and feared 
 them second only to the afterguard. They needed 
 me as leader. They flattered themselves, I dare say, 
 that they could control me or extinguish me when 
 the time came. 
 
 For my part, I had made my decision. It was a 
 desperate, a terrible decision. It was necessary that 
 I pretend to fall in with Boston s plans if I were to 
 execute my decision. 
 
240 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 "When it gets dark, I am going aft alone/ I 
 told him. "You and Blackie keep the crowd quiet, 
 and for ard of the house, until I return." 
 
 "What you goin to do?" he asked. 
 
 "Make sure that Newman will be safe when we 
 nake the attack," I explained. "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 the law of man would call 
 it, and murder is the right term. I planned 
 the deed, not in cold blood perhaps, but certainly 
 with coolness and foresight. I intended to creep aft 
 in the night and shoot down the captain. 
 
 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 but not 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, among men who 
 obeyed but one law fear. The watch, the gang, 
 was my social unit; loyalty to a shipmate was the 
 one virtue I thoroughly understood and respected. 
 And it was loyalty to Newman that determined me 
 to kill. 
 
 Newman was my friend aye, more than that, he 
 was in my youthfuKeyes a demi-god, a man to revere 
 and worship above all others. He was prisoner, 
 helpless. The crew were bent on mutiny; I could 
 not stop them. The mutiny was planned and ex- 
 
 241 
 
242 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 pected by the captain ; and its outbreak would be the 
 needed excuse for the slaying of Newman, and, 
 Newman said, of the lady. 
 
 How could I save Newman? That was my prob 
 lem. How indeed? The evil choice was inevitably 
 mine; and I considered it the lesser evil. If I killed 
 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 and 
 fear of Swope, rather than greed, that impelled the 
 squareheads to revolt. If Swope were killed, they 
 might not go on with it, and what the sailors de 
 cided, the stiffs must agree to. And in any case, 
 Newman would 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 not yet gathered the 
 idea that human life was sacred. Certainly, my ex 
 perience 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, truly I did! I dare say few acts in 
 my life have had a finer, cleaner, less selfish motive. 
 
 I did not expect to escape after firing the shot. I 
 expected the mates or the tradesmen would kill me. 
 True, I thought of hiding on the dark deck, and pick 
 ing off the captain when he appeared on the poop. 
 That is what Boston and Blackie expected me to do. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 243 
 
 But I dismissed this thought without serious consid 
 eration. It was uncertain, and I meant to make 
 sure of the brute. Besides, it was, I felt, cowardly, 
 and I would not be a coward. I intended to get into 
 the cabin and shoot Swope in his own arm-chair, so 
 to speak. Afterwards well, they could do what 
 they pleased with me. My friend would be safe. 
 
 So I lived through a few very exalted hours be 
 fore the first night watch came. Unhappy? Not I. 
 In moments I touched the skies in exaltation. 
 
 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 my generous 
 conceit. I was tossing away my life, you see, with 
 a grand gesture, to help my friend. I was dying for 
 my friend s sake. My imagination gave my death 
 nobility. I imagined Newman and the lady remem 
 bering me sadly all their lives long, thinking of me 
 always as their saviour. I imagined my name on 
 sailors lips, in ships not yet launched; they would 
 talk of me, of Jack Shreve, the lad who killed Yankee 
 Swope so his shipmate might live. 
 
 My resolution did not weaken; rather, it grew 
 firmer with the passage of the hours. Of course, I 
 did not take the crew into my confidence (there 
 might be, I thought, another Cockney among them), 
 but I laid down the law to Boston and Blackie, and 
 they promised faithfully to obey my injunctions. 
 They promised they would keep the men in check un 
 til I had completed my task. They promised also to 
 
244 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 mislead the spy, and see that no man laid violent 
 hands upon him. 
 
 This last I considered important. The crowd was 
 eager for vengeance upon Cockney. He had com 
 mitted the unpardonable sin, he had betrayed his 
 mates. Blackie wanted to slit his throat, and drop 
 him over the side; and the men voted an emphatic 
 aye to the suggestion. Sentence would have been 
 executed as soon as Cockney came forward from 
 the wheel had I not interposed my veto and given 
 my reasons. 
 
 It was not solicitude for the spy s life that influ 
 enced me. I, too, considered he had forfeited his 
 right to life by his act. But I pointed out that offer 
 ing immediate violence to Cockney might alarm the 
 afterguard, and change their plan of action; more 
 over, we might use the spy to carry false tales of 
 our intentions to the enemy. 
 
 So when Cockney breezed into the foc sle, at four 
 bells, his reception in no way aroused his suspicions. 
 Everything seemed going his way. He sympathized 
 volubly with me, and would have awakened Holy 
 Joe (who had dropped into a healing sleep, after 
 regaining consciousness) to sympathize with him, 
 had I permitted. Aye, he was a good dissembler, 
 was Cockney but we matched him. His mouth 
 dripped curses on Swope and his minions, he ex 
 horted us to " arve guts" and rush the poop at mus 
 ter time. He was willing to risk his own skin by 
 leading the rush. "Wot did we think abaht it?" 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 245 
 
 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 to strike. Men slept soundest just before 
 dawn; those who were awake were less 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, and recommenced 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 threatened Nigger. Aye, he made a 
 fine bluster. " E wasn t goin to give hup is 
 chawnce at the bleedin myte, not im! E ad a 
 score to settle with that blighter, so e ad. The 
 Nigger could arve the bloomin second myte, that s 
 
 wot." 
 
 Nigger was so incensed he got up and left the 
 foc sle, leaving the last word to the spy. Nigger 
 had brooded so much over his wrongs he was a 
 bit cracked; he took no part in the councils of the 
 crew, and did not know, I am sure, that Cockney 
 had been unmasked as a traitor. Else he would 
 never have acted as he later did. 
 
246 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 It came down night. It was a good night for my 
 purpose, dark and shadowless, with a mere sliver 
 of a new moon in the sky. I had little difficulty in 
 gaining entrance to the cabin. 
 
 After the eight o clock muster, when my watch was 
 sent below, I slipped around the corner of the round 
 house, where the tradesmen lived (it was on the 
 maindeck, between the mainmast and the after- 
 hatch) and crouched there in the darkness while my 
 mates trooped forward. This roundhouse (which 
 was really square, of course, like most roundhouses 
 on board ship) was very plentifully supplied with 
 ports. Designedly so, no doubt, for it was the 
 cabin s outpost. There were two portholes in its 
 forward wall, commanding the foredeck, and three 
 portholes in either of the side walls. The door to 
 the house was in the after wall. It was built like 
 a fortress, and used as one. 
 
 As I lay there on the deck, pressed against the 
 forward wall, I saw the muzzles of shotguns sticking 
 out of the portholes above my head. There was no 
 light showing in the roundhouse, but the tradesmen 
 were in there just the same. Aye, and prepared and 
 alert. They were covering the deck with guns ; and 
 I knew they would continue to cover the deck 
 throughout that night. 
 
 Oh, Swope was canny, as canny as he was cruel. 
 He would provoke mutiny, but he would run no 
 chance of losing his ship or his life. He was pre 
 pared. What could a few revolvers do against 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 247 
 
 these entrenched men? My shipmates revolt could 
 have but one end mass murder and defeat ! 
 
 So I thought, as I lay there on the deck, watching 
 my chance to slip aft. Swope s plan, Swope s 
 mutiny, I thought. Swope was the soul of the whole 
 vile business. His plan and I was going to spoil 
 it ! I was going 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 the corner of 
 the roundhouse, and saw the enemy standing on the 
 poop. The three of them were there, both mates, 
 with the skipper standing between them. I picked 
 him out of the group easily, even in the darkness, 
 for he was of much slighter build than either of his 
 officers, and besides I heard his voice. 
 
 "The rats have discovered some courage but 
 they ll lose it soon enough, when they face our recep 
 tion," I heard him say. "But no nodding to-night, 
 Misters! Keep your eyes and ears open!" 
 
 Fitzgibbon mumbled something. The captain 
 laughed his soft, tinkling laugh. 
 
 "I m going down to take a look at him now," he 
 said, and the three of them moved aft, out of sight. 
 
 Aye, I might have picked him off then. But I 
 didn t even entertain the thought. It was no part 
 of my plan to slay from concealment. I was the 
 hero, the avenger, the saviour ! I meant to face him 
 in his own lighted cabin. 
 
 The door of the roundhouse was closed, so I did 
 
248 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 not fear the inmates would observe me entering the 
 cabin. The break of the poop seemed clear of life. 
 I scuttled on my hands and knees until I was past 
 the booby-hatch; then I arose to my feet and flitted 
 noiselessly to the cabin door. I opened it just wide 
 enough to admit my body, and stepped into the 
 lighted cabin alleyway. 
 
 My bare feet made no noise as I crept toward the 
 saloon. This was the first time I had set foot within 
 the sacred precincts of the quarterdeck. 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, but not a very clear one. 
 
 There were three doors opening upon the alley 
 way; the one on the port side was the inner door of 
 the sail-locker, the two on the starboard side let 
 into the mates rooms. That much I knew. I also 
 knew that I need not fear these doors, since both 
 mates were on deck. 
 
 But at the end of the alleyway was the saloon, the 
 great common room of the cabin. I paused uncer 
 tainly upon the threshold ; I didn t know which way 
 to turn for concealment, and I had to get out of the 
 alleyway quickly, for any moment a tradesman 
 might come in behind me. 
 
 There were several doors on each side of the 
 saloon. To starboard, I knew, lay the captain s 
 quarters, and, from the sounds, the pantry. To 
 port, I knew, lay the lady s quarters, and the stew 
 ard s room. But which door was which, I did not 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 249 
 
 know. I decided I had best duck into the captain s 
 room. 
 
 But before I could act upon this decision the for 
 ward door on the port side slowly opened, and 
 Wong, the steward, stepped out. I shrank back 
 into the alleyway as the door opened, and the China 
 man did not glance in my direction. His whole 
 attention was riveted upon the companion stairs; 
 Swope s voice sounded up there in the entrance to 
 the hatch. 
 
 Wong softly closed the door behind him, and ran 
 on tiptoe across the saloon, disappearing into the 
 pantry. I did not hesitate an instant. Wong had 
 not locked the door behind him, and his room would 
 be handy enough for my purpose. From it I could 
 command the interior of the big room, and step 
 forth when the moment arrived. I crossed the cor 
 ner of the saloon in a bound, and turned the door 
 knob as silently as had Wong. 
 
 I opened the door and stepped in backwards. My 
 eyes assured me I was unseen. I closed the door, 
 all save a crack, through which I meant to watch 
 for the coming of my victim. 
 
 I heard a gasp behind me. I shut the door tight 
 and wheeled about and found 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 a room, a spacious 
 cabin, not a cubbyhole berth I had blundered 
 into ; the lady s own quarters, no less. There was a 
 lamp burning in gimbals, and its light disclosed to 
 my first startled glance that it was a woman s room. 
 Aye, to my foc sle-bred senses the quarters were 
 palatial. 
 
 The lady crouched on her knees, with her skirts 
 spread wide, and her hands hidden behind her back. 
 When first her eyes met mine, I saw she was fear- 
 stricken. But immediately she recognized me the 
 fear gave way to relief. 
 
 "Oh, I thought it was " she began. Then she 
 saw the revolver in my hand, and the fear leaped 
 into her eyes again. Aye, fear, and comprehension. 
 "That oh, Boy, what do you mean to do?" 
 
 I had been gaping, open-mouthed, too surprised 
 to utter a sound. But her swift recognition, and her 
 words, brought me to myself. Also, just then we 
 heard Captain Swope s voice. He was in the saloon, 
 calling out an order to the steward. We listened 
 with strained attention, both of us. He told the 
 steward to open the lazaret hatch, and be sharp 
 about it. 
 
 250 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 251 
 
 I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, and nodded 
 significantly to the lady. "Don t be afraid, ma am," 
 I whispered. "He isn t going to hurt Newman. He 
 isn t going to hurt anyone not any more." Oh, 
 the dread that showed in her face when we heard 
 Swope s voice ! 
 
 She brought her hands into view, when I spoke. 
 Something she had been holding behind her back 
 dropped on the deck with a metallic clink, and she 
 pressed her hands against her bosom. 
 
 "You you mean " she began. 
 
 I nodded again. I really thought I was reassur 
 ing her, lifting a load of care from her heart. 
 
 "I m going out there and get him. Don t be 
 afraid, ma am. I won t make a rniss 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 ard and tell the men not to mutiny. They ll 
 listen to you, especially when you 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. If you tell them I ve killed him, and appeal 
 to them, the sailors will keep quiet, I know; and 
 they ll make the stiffs keep quiet, too. It will save 
 some lives, ma am for the crowd is coming aft 
 to-night, like the Old Man plans, and the tradesmen 
 are in the roundhouse, with guns, waiting for them." 
 
 There was anguish in her whispered reply. "Com 
 ing aft? No, no, they must not I It would mean 
 his death " 
 
252 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 She stopped. We listened. We heard Swope 
 again, out in the saloon. He was damning Wong 
 for a sluggard, and demanding a lighted lantern 
 that instant or sooner, or "I ll take a strip off your 
 yellow hide, you heathen!" 
 
 "No, not Newman s death," I answered the lady. 
 I turned, and laid my hand upon the door knob. My 
 weapon was ready. This was the moment I must 
 act. 
 
 Before I could open the door, I felt the lady s 
 cool fingers upon my wrist. 
 
 "No, no, not that! Not murder!" she exclaimed. 
 "Oh, Boy, you would not take life you would not 
 do that!" 
 
 I turned and faced her, astonished. Her eyes 
 were but a few inches distant from mine, now, and 
 to my amazement I read in their expression not 
 approbation but startled horror. And I could not 
 mistake the meaning in her voice. She disapproved 
 of my killing Captain Swope. 
 
 I was as shocked as she. Here I had been happy 
 in the consciousness I was playing the hero, I had 
 believed myself cutting a very pretty figure indeed 
 in the lady s eyes, and, instead well, my bubble 
 was pricked. As I looked into the lady s eyes, I 
 could feel my grand dimensions dwindling in my 
 own eyes. More than that, I began to feel ashamed. 
 Just why that look in her eyes should shame me, I 
 didn t know. My education had not progressed to 
 the self-analytic stage. But shame me it did. I 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 253 
 
 felt mean, vile. I felt, without consciously reason 
 ing about it, that murdering Yankee Swope would, 
 perhaps, be not such a noble deed after all. I con 
 fronted something that was superior to the bar 
 barous moral code of my brutal world. I discov 
 ered it in the lady s wide open eyes. It vanquished 
 me. It took from me the feeling I was doing 
 right. 
 
 But I could not surrender thus tamely. Indeed, 
 the need for the deed remained 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 gripped about the revolver s stock. 
 "I know you must not!" she answered. "You must 
 not take human life!" It was a commandment she 
 uttered, and I took it as such. Especially, when she 
 added, "Do you think he would kill in that fashion?" 
 
 That finished me. Aye, she knew how to beat 
 down my defense ; her woman s insight had supplied 
 her with an invincible argument. I averted my eyes 
 from hers, and hung my head; I allowed her to take 
 the revolver from my grasp. 
 
 For I knew the answer to her question. "He" 
 would not creep into the cabin and shoot Captain 
 Swope. She meant Newman, and I knew that New 
 man would scorn to do the thing I planned to do. 
 Kill Swope in fair fight, with chances equal? New 
 man might do that. But shoot him down like a 
 mad dog, when he was unprepared and perhaps un- 
 
254. THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 armed no, Newman would not do that. Nor 
 would any decent man. 
 
 I passed another milestone in my evolution into 
 manhood, as I stood there, hangdog and ashamed. 
 I added another "don t" to my list. 
 
 She brushed back the hair from my forehead. 
 Oh, there was magic in her fingers. That gentle 
 stroke restored my pride, my self-respect. It was 
 a gesture of understanding. I felt now as I felt the 
 first time I saw the lady, like a little boy before a 
 wise and merciful mother. I knew the lady under 
 stood. She knew my heart was clean, my motive 
 good. 
 
 She held up the w r eapon 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 not kill Captain Swope what 
 would happen to Newman? That was the question 
 that hammered against my mind, that sent a wave 
 of sick fear through me. If I did not kill Swope 
 then Newman was lost. 
 
 "But I must do something," I added, miserably. 
 "You know what will happen when the hands come 
 aft. It will be the skipper s excuse; Newman told 
 me it would. I can t see him butchered without 
 doing something to prevent it. Why, ma am, New 
 man is my friend!" 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 255 
 
 "He is my life," said she. Her voice was so low 
 I barely caught the words. "But I would not buy his 
 life with murder; it would lower him to their level." 
 She swayed, and clutched at my shoulder ; I thought 
 she was falling, and gripped her arm to steady her. 
 But she was not the 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. "If they do, it will ruin every 
 thing. Boy, you must stop them. Deakin will help 
 you. You must hold them back." 
 
 I shook my head. "It s too late," I informed her. 
 "They will not listen 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 New 
 man, himself," I replied. 
 
 "What time have they set?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 "Next eight bells," I told her. "We gave the 
 skipper s spy to understand it was timed for four 
 o clock in the morning; but the lads really 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 the first time I examined the floor 
 of the room. The first thing my gaze encountered 
 was a large carpenter s auger, or brace and bit; the 
 next thing I saw, was a pattern of holes in the floor. 
 
256 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 There were two rows of them, parallel, each about 
 eighteen inches long, and the same distance apart. 
 The holes overlapped each other, and made a con 
 tinuous cut in the deck. 
 
 The lady thrust out her hands, palms up, for 
 my inspection. Upon each palm was a great red 
 blister. 
 
 "I was nearly despairing," said she, "I could 
 no longer press down hard enough. But 
 now 
 
 She did not need to explain. The sight of the 
 holes and the auger told me enough to set me to 
 work instantly. Aye, I grabbed up the tool and 
 turned to with a song in my heart and the strength 
 of Hercules in my arms. There was after all a 
 chance to save my friend, and it depended in part 
 upon my haste and strength. A chance to save him 
 without murder. 
 
 The lady locked the door, and came and sat down 
 beside me. While I worked she explained the plot 
 behind the task. She talked eagerly, without re 
 serve; it helped her, eased her mind, I think, to 
 unload into my ears. 
 
 I was boring my way to Newman. My task was 
 to connect the two rows of holes already bored 
 through the deck with two other rows; when I was 
 finished there would be an opening in the deck some 
 eighteen inches square. A manhole to the lazaret 
 below, where lay Newman. 
 
 But this was not all. She told me there was a 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 257 
 
 scheme to free her and him completely from the 
 captain and the ship. Well, I had guessed some 
 thing like that was in the wind; but I did not tell 
 her so. She said that Mister Lynch was in the plot; 
 aye, this hard bucko, this "square-shooter," as I had 
 heard him called, was the instigator and prime 
 mover in the affair. One of the tradesmen was also 
 friendly, and had 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 very 
 important part. 
 
 The plot was this. We were to get Newman out 
 of the lazaret (she always called him u Roy" when 
 she spoke of him or to him; and when she men 
 tioned Swope, it was always with a little hesitating 
 catch in her voice) through this hole we were mak 
 ing. She had the key that would release him from 
 irons. Wong had stolen it from the skipper s 
 desk. 
 
 When he was out of the lazaret, the situation 
 would be managed by Mister Lynch. The ship s 
 longboat, in the port skids, was ready for the water. 
 They planned, said the lady, to launch this boat at 
 night, in the second mate s watch, and she and New 
 man were to sail away together. 
 
 For it was no haphazard plan born of despera 
 tion after Newman s arrest. Newman knew all 
 about it. It had kept him occupied this past week; 
 it was responsible in large measure for the mys 
 terious happenings of the past week, for Newman s 
 
258 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 absences, and for the lady s masquerade in Nils 
 clothes. She had access to Nils chest through 
 Wong, who had charge of it, and she first dressed 
 up in Nils clothes so that she might, as she thought, 
 move about at night on deck unobserved. When 
 she was observed, and taken for a ghost, both New 
 man and Lynch told her to continue the masquerade ; 
 it helped their business with the longboat, because 
 it kept spying eyes away from that part of the ship. 
 They had been provisioning and preparing this 
 boat for a week, working thus in the night, and by 
 stealth. Another day or two, and they would have 
 been away. 
 
 But the captain s blow this afternoon had jeopard 
 ized the entire scheme. Indeed, it was on the verge 
 of utter ruin. For Newman was in the black hole 
 in irons, and the crew were preparing to mutiny. 
 
 It was this last, the threatened uprising, that 
 terrified the lady. It would finally ruin their chances 
 of escape, she told me. At all hazards, we must get 
 Newman out of the lazaret before the sailors 
 attack occurred. We must get him forward, she 
 said, so that he might squelch the mutiny before it 
 began. Oh, Newman could tame Boston and 
 Blackie, he could tame the stiffs and compose the 
 squareheads; she had no doubt he could do all that, 
 and instantly. I was not so sure. I didn t think 
 that anything or anybody could stop the crew 
 unless it was killing Swope, which she forbade. But 
 I didn t say so. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 259 
 
 And in any event, the immediate thing to do was 
 to release Newman. It would at least give him a 
 fighting chance. She urged haste, and I worked like 
 a fiend. It was hard work. The deck planking was 
 three inches thick, and the number of holes I must 
 bore seemed endless. I was surprised at the amount 
 of work already accomplished; it did not seem pos 
 sible that this slender woman had done the two long 
 rows of holes. Nor had she, I learned. Wong had 
 bored most of them, during the odd moments he 
 could slip away unobserved from his work. The 
 tradesman who furnished the tool had even driven 
 a few. The lady had done some of the work, as 
 the condition of her hands proved. But my coming 
 was really providential. She could never have 
 finished the job on time, and now she knew of the 
 crew s intention, she recognized the need of 
 haste. 
 
 I longed mightily for a saw. Yet I knew I could 
 not have used a saw had I possessed one. A saw 
 makes a carrying noise. The tool I had was nearly 
 noiseless. I sweated and wondered, and now and 
 then asked a question. 
 
 I wondered what Lynch would do when the lads 
 came aft. Aye, and I discovered that this was one 
 reason the lady was so terrified at the prospect of 
 mutiny. For Lynch, she was certain, would make 
 common cause with the rest of the afterguard 
 against any uprising forward. He was helping her 
 and Newman. But he had no interest in helping the 
 
260 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 hands. The hands were just hands to him, so much 
 beef to work and beat. 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 is also, 
 according to his lights, a just man. His brutality 
 is always for what 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 do their work." 
 
 "Fair enough," I admitted. 
 
 "When my my husband tried to kill Roy, that 
 night you and he were aloft together, he violated 
 James Lynch s very strict code. He considered that 
 attempt a serious blot upon his honor. He told 
 him Angus as much. He told him he would not 
 have that sort of thing in his watch. It wasn t 
 regard for Roy that made him say that; it was just 
 that he thinks it is not right to kill or even hurt a 
 man for personal 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. That is why, 
 a week ago, he came to me and offered his help. 
 He had discovered what my my husband really 
 intended doing; I think he overheard a conversation 
 between my between Angus and the mate. He 
 said we were both in danger, I as well as Roy, and 
 that we must leave the ship. 
 
 "Roy suggested the longboat, and he agreed. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 261 
 
 Roy can navigate, of course, and there are islands 
 not distant from our present position. So we have 
 been preparing the boat, and Mr. Lynch planned to 
 launch it some midwatch when the mate and and 
 Captain Swope were in their berths. He hoped to 
 get us away so quietly they would know nothing 
 about it until hours later." 
 
 "But surely Lynch didn t intend staying by the 
 ship? Why, when the Old Man found out he d 
 skin him alive !" I exclaimed. 
 
 "He said not, and I think not," she said. "He 
 has sailed under my my husband for years. He 
 is not like Mr. Fitzgibbon, and the others. He does 
 not fear my husband. I think Angus fears him. He 
 knows things that have happened in this ship that 
 my my husband dare not have told on shore. He 
 refused when we urged him to come with us; he 
 declared he would 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 she disclosed the anxiety that was 
 wrenching her soul. 
 
 "But now I don t know what he will do. If 
 we can free Roy in time; if we can stop trouble 
 forward! Then I know Mr. Lynch will keep his 
 promise; he will lock up Angus and the mate, get 
 them out of the way somehow, until Roy and I 
 have left the ship. But if the men rise before we 
 have gone then he will think his duty is to the 
 ship. He will not think of us, and my my hus- 
 
262 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 band will do what he wishes. Do you under 
 stand?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am. But we have until midnight, or 
 after, and it s just a little past two bells, now. Ten 
 minutes more, ma am, and I ll have this hole open." 
 
 But it took a little longer than ten minutes. Three 
 bells struck while I was still whittling and digging 
 at the caulking in the seams with my sheath knife. 
 But the echo of the big ship s bell forward had 
 hardly died away when I carefully, ever so care 
 fully, lifted up and laid back the cut-away section 
 of the deck. I had left the caulking at one end 
 nearly 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 the littered darkness. We could 
 make out, dimly, heaps of barrels and boxes. A 
 damp, chill air rushed up into our faces, carrying 
 with it the sound of a scurrying rat, and another 
 sound which made the lady gasp and tremble, and 
 caused me to grind my teeth with rage. It was a 
 long, drawn-out sigh, the moan of a man in agony 
 of flesh or spirit. It was Newman s voice. Min 
 gling with it, and following it, came the low, 
 demoniac chuckle of Captain Swope. 
 
 Lying flat and craning my neck into the hole, I 
 saw, far over on the other side of the ship, the 
 flicker of a lantern upon boxes. I immediately drew 
 back, got to my feet, and extinguished the lamp 
 in the gimbals. Then I snatched a blanket from the 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 263 
 
 steward s bunk, and spread it across the hole. That 
 done, there was no danger of light or draught be 
 traying us to the man below. 
 
 I asked orders of the lady, and discussed ways 
 and means with her. It was decided at once that 
 I should go below and effect Newman s release 
 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 way about in the 
 dark, cluttered lazaret; besides, her work lay above. 
 Swope was evidently pleasuring himself by viewing 
 and taunting his helpless prisoner ; he must be drawn 
 away from this amusement. 
 
 She could not go on deck herself, she said; FitZx 
 gibbon was up there, and would see her and she 
 was supposed to be locked in her room. But she 
 would send Wong on deck with a message to Mister 
 Lynch; she would have Lynch sing out for the cap 
 tain s presence on the poop. When the captain 
 responded to the hail, I was to accomplish my task. 
 I was to bring Newman to this room. What hap 
 pened then depended upon chance and Lynch. 
 Newman and I must get forward, some way, and 
 quiet the men; Lynch would take care of Swope. 
 She had a fine faith in the second mate, had the 
 lady. 
 
 I had never been in the lazaret, the task of 
 breaking out stores having usually fallen to the 
 stiffs. But from foc sle gossip I knew it was a big 
 storeroom, comprising the whole tweendeck be- 
 
264 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 neath the cabin space. The Golden Bough, like 
 most clippers of her day, sometimes carried emi 
 grant passengers, and had need of a spacious lazaret. 
 
 The lady sketched the lay of the land for me. 
 The hatch to the lazaret was in the saloon floor, 
 well aft, on the starboard side. Wong was more 
 familiar than any man with the lazaret s interior, 
 and he had decided the deck should be cut through 
 from this room, rather than at any other point. 
 This, said the lady, was because farther aft, on this 
 side of the ship, a strong room occupied the lazaret 
 space (aye, the same strong room which so tickled 
 the fancy of some of my shipmates ! ) . The China 
 man had planned with foresight; he had even dis 
 posed stores below to convenience and shield the 
 man who played rescuer. When I dropped through 
 the hole, the lady told me, I would find myself in 
 a narrow alleyway, walled with tiers of beef casks 
 and other stores; if I followed this alleyway I 
 would come to the lazaret hatch, near where New 
 man was secured. 
 
 She thought I should wait until I heard the cap 
 tain leave the lazaret. But to this I demurred. 
 The success of the scheme might well depend upon 
 the leeway of a moment s time. The ship s noises, 
 always present in a ship s hold, would cover any 
 slight noise I might make. Truth to tell, that 
 sound of Newman in pain had thrown me into a 
 fever of impatience to get to his side; and I suspect 
 it rendered the lady less cautious, too. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 265 
 
 "God bless you, Boy and, oh, be careful," she 
 whispered. 
 
 I drew back the blanket, and lowered my body 
 into the opening. I hung by my hands an instant, 
 and felt her draw the blanket over my head as she 
 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 to the hatch, and 
 peered through the chinks. The captain had 
 hung his lantern on a beam overhead, and its rays 
 limned like a stage-setting an open space some six 
 feet square. Aye, a stage-setting, and the scene a 
 torture chamber. I bit my lips to restrain a cry 
 of horror and rage when I looked through the 
 chinks between the barrels, and it was with difficulty 
 I kept myself from rushing forth and falling upon 
 the fiend who had contrived and was enjoying the 
 scene. 
 
 Captain Swope was seated upon an upturned keg. 
 He had placed the lantern so its light fell full upon 
 Newman (it illumined himself, for my 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 me finger my knife hilt. 
 Newman my friend! 
 
 He was at the far end of that open space, trussed 
 up to the starboard limbers. Trussed up and in 
 what way! You will remember, when they placed 
 him under arrest, the captain ordered his hands 
 ironed behind his back. The reason was now appar 
 ent. His hands were still behind his back; aye, 
 
 266 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 287 
 
 when they trussed him up, they drew up his hands 
 until they 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 he 
 stood, or rather hung for he could not stand prop 
 erly with his arms wrenched back in that position 
 and the whole weight of his body dragged upon his 
 wrists and shoulder blades. So he had stood during 
 the hours that had passed since afternoon. Tor 
 ture, agony that is what it meant to be trussed 
 up in that position. 
 
 I thought I recognized Fitzgibbon s handiwork 
 in this torture; though I dare say it was originally 
 Swope s invention. But we had seen Fitzgibbon use 
 this same method of inflicting pain and terror, we 
 men forward. One day, for an imagined insolence, 
 he had trussed up Nigger to the mainmast in this 
 very fashion, and left him there for a short half- 
 hour. After five minutes Nigger was wild with 
 pain. When he was cut down, his arms seemed 
 paralyzed, and it was a full day ere the ache passed 
 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 enjoy 
 ing himself right royally. Aye, I could tell. The 
 words that slid between his full lips were laden with 
 the sensuous delight their utterance gave the 
 
268 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 speaker. I lay in my retreat waiting for the hail 
 that would draw the beast on deck, 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 not taken the revolver from me, I 
 fear I should have shot the man despite my promise. 
 As it was my sheath knife lay bared in my hand, and 
 I had to fight myself to keep from leaping the bar 
 rier 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. He talked. Unconsciously he 
 made me witness to his confession of black treach 
 eries, and deeds more loathsome than I could have 
 imagined myself. 
 
 When I reached my position behind the barrels, 
 and was able to distinguish his words he was 
 boasting of and baring his secrets in a voice 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 has helped you a lot in the past, 
 hasn t he, Roy? And He has helped her a lot, 
 hasn t he? Helped her to stand me. Oh, that s a 
 joke! The just and merciful One d you remem 
 ber how old Baintree used to rant? You approved, 
 didn t you. You agreed with old Baintree. So 
 did I, Roy, to his face. 
 
 "But you why you were a damned Puritan, Roy. 
 You wouldn t do this, you wouldn t do that, you 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 269 
 
 would be clean of vice your very words, Roy! 
 and you would be honest and just with men. That s 
 the sort of thing that paid, says you. 
 
 "And didn t it pay you, though! Ho, ho; it s 
 too rich, Roy! You would make yourself as good a 
 man as old Baintree ; you would make yourself 
 worthy 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 and the 
 Devil did it! 
 
 "Well, well, I thought I would surprise you with 
 my little tale of how I used the Twigg girl to spoil 
 your chance with Mary. But Beasley surprised you 
 instead. Didn t he, now? A neat trick, eh, Roy? 
 You never 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 just as well 
 pleased. With Beulah out of the way as well as 
 you it was plain sailing with Mary, Roy. 
 
 "No, I never wanted Mary. Not for herself. 
 She s not my kind, Roy; a damned, sniveling saint 
 isn t my idea of a woman. But I wanted her money. 
 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 the saint with 
 her, just then. He would never have consented to 
 her marrying me; and also the money, you know. 
 So I eliminated him, Roy. And God let you suffer 
 
270 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 for what I did! Ho, ho, that s rich, isn t it? Come 
 to think of it, it s sound theology vicarious atone 
 ment, eh? You got stripes, and I got Mary and 
 her money, which I have spent most pleasurably. 
 
 "But you were always a fool, Roy a stupid, 
 trusting fool. You trusted me, didn t you? I was 
 your bosom friend, your boyhood chum, whose wild 
 ways grieved you. Fool, fool, if you had possessed 
 the wit of a jackass you would have known I hated 
 you! Hate, hate, hate! I have hated you all my 
 life, Roy! I hated you when we were boys and 
 you made me take second place. I have hated you 
 ever since; I hate you now so much it is almost 
 love, Roy! Eh, but I never love. I hate. And 
 when I 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 face hidden. 
 He might have been unconscious. I thought he 
 was, for he did not even look up when the captain 
 was excitedly chanting his hate. Swope was plainly 
 piqued at this indifference; he got up from his keg 
 and stepped close to Newman. 
 
 "But you are not thinking of yourself, are you, 
 Roy?" he says. "You are thinking of her, I know. 
 How sweet! Sentiment was always your strong 
 point. Well, think hard about her, Roy, think your 
 fill; for she is almost as near her end as you are 
 near yours. But not quite so near. I intend to 
 break that haughty spirit before I er eliminate 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 271 
 
 her. 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 smack 
 ing his lips, stood looking at Newman s bowed 
 figure. Then he said slowly and deliberately, actu 
 ally lingering over the words. "I am going to make 
 a strumpet of the wench for Fitzgibbon s pleasure !" 
 
 Newman stirred. "Ah, that wakes you up I" 
 cried Swope. It did, indeed. Newman was not 
 unconscious. I could have wished he was, so he 
 might not have heard those words. He lifted his 
 face to the light, and I could see the sweat of agony 
 upon it. He did not speak. He just looked at the 
 man in front of him. It was a look of unutterable 
 loathing; his expression was as though he were re 
 garding something indescribably obscene and revolt 
 ing. And then he pursed his lips and spat in Cap 
 tain Swope s face. 
 
 The skipper stepped back, and swabbed his cheek 
 with his sleeve. I thought he would strike Newman, 
 kick him, practice some devilish cruelty upon him 
 in payment. Aye, I was crouched for the spring, 
 with my sheath knife ready; if he had laid finger 
 upon Newman I should have had his life in an 
 instant. I was all the barbarian that moment, my 
 new-found scruples forgotten. I was in a killing 
 mood. What man would not have been. 
 
 But Captain Swope did not attempt to repay the 
 insult with any physical cruelty. He knew he was 
 
272 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 already racking his enemy s body to the limit of 
 endurance, and his aim, I discovered, was to supple 
 ment this bodily suffering with mental torture. In 
 deed, Swope seemed pleased at Newman s act. He 
 laughed as he wiped his face. 
 
 "That stings eh, Roy? It s true be certain 
 of that, you soft-hearted fool. I tell the truth 
 sometimes, Roy when it serves my purpose. And 
 I 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 Fitzgib- 
 bon s arms! Pretty thought!" 
 
 Chuckling, Swope resumed his seat. He leaned 
 forward, and watched Newman with hawklike inten 
 sity. But Newman gave him little cause to chortle; 
 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? n 
 
 Newman lifted his head. "You degenerate 
 beast!" he said. He said it evenly, without passion, 
 and immediately withdrew his features from the 
 other 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 it company You 
 can do nothing to prevent itl To hairy old Fitz 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 273 
 
 she ll go and you can t prevent it! Think of that, 
 Roy!" 
 
 Newman gave no sign he heard, but the black 
 hearted villain on the keg knew that the big fellow s 
 ears were open and that his words were like stabs 
 in a raw wound. He talked on, and described 
 villainies to come and villainies accomplished; the 
 tale of his misdeeds seemed to possess him. He 
 gloried in them, gloated over them. And as I 
 listened, I realized, ignorant young whelp though 
 I was, that this man was different from any man I 
 had ever met or imagined. He wasn t human; he 
 was a freak, a human-looking thing with a tiger s 
 nature. 
 
 Always he reminded me of a cat, from the very 
 first moment I clapped eyes upon him; never did he 
 remind me more of a cat or tiger than when he 
 sat upon the keg and teased Newman. He seemed 
 to purr his content with the situation. 
 
 "I know what you are thinking, Roy," says he. 
 "You are thinking that my brave and upright second 
 mate will prevent it happening to our dear little 
 Mary? Am I right, eh? Vain thought. Our 
 friend, Lynch, will not be here to interfere. I have 
 seen to that. He grows dangerous, does Jim Lynch, 
 so elimination. Ah, I could write a treatise 
 upon the Art of Elimination couldn t I? Angus 
 Swope, the great eliminator! It is my specialty, 
 Roy. 
 
 "Neatness, thoroughness, dispatch, everything 
 
274 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 shipshape, no loose ends flying that s my style, 
 Roy. Now there was neatness and dispatch about 
 my running you out of Freeport when I found your 
 presence there inconvenient. Don t you think there 
 was? Eh, you great fool? You pulled my chest 
 nuts out of the fire very nicely indeed. But I was 
 not as thorough as I should have been in that affair. 
 A loose end, or two, eh, Roy? Beasley and your 
 self. Ah but I improved with practice. I left no 
 loose end that night in Bellingham, did I? Unless 
 the fact that your neck didn t stretch, as I intended, 
 could be called a loose end. But then you ll be 
 tucked out of sight again very soon, and this time 
 for good and all. I never did believe in imprison 
 ment 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, that 
 he would have been acting more kindly had he dis 
 regarded the jury s recommendation and hanged you 
 out of hand. And do you know what he told me, 
 Roy? He said I was right, that you deserved hang 
 ing. 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 you 
 never guessed why I fished for that invitation ? Why 
 I persuaded you to send your mates ashore that 
 night? Just another of Angus scrapes, thought 
 you; he wants to confide in me, and ask my advice. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 275 
 
 Angus wants my help, thought you. So I did, Roy, 
 so I did. 
 
 "I needed your help badly. But not the kind of 
 help you would have offered; no, I needed your help 
 in a different way. I needed a catspaw, Roy. 
 
 "I was skating on pretty thin ice just about then, 
 Roy. I needed old Baintree s money. I needed 
 Mary to get the money. But Mary was only willing 
 to take me because her father wished her to; and 
 I was heartily sick of playing the saint to stand well 
 with him. Oh, well, I ll tell you why not? The 
 old hypocrite had a Puritan s sharp eyes, and he had 
 caught me in a slip-up or two, and I knew he was 
 about to tell Mary to break the betrothal. And 
 there was another thing, a little investment I han 
 dled for him. He was bound to discover about it 
 shortly, when the payments were due, and well, 
 you know, Roy, what an absurd attitude he had 
 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 of my worries, not a big worry, 
 but still a worry. What if you forgot your pride ? 
 What if Mary forgot her pride? Of course, you 
 were in Bellingham, and outward bound; and she 
 was home in Freeport but who can tell what a 
 woman will do where her heart is concerned? Be 
 sides, I hated you, damn you ! I was not going to 
 overlook the luck that brought the three of us into 
 
276 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the same port at the same time. You had been my 
 catspaw once; why not again? 
 
 "So I had you invite me off to dinner. That cozy 
 little dinner, in your own cabin, just you and I, and 
 Stord to wait on us. I bet you never guessed until 
 your trial that your steward was my man, if you 
 guessed 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 would 
 congratulate me upon the coming marriage, toast 
 the best man, who had won the race. Oh, I enjoyed 
 your hospitality that night! How you wrenched 
 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 sick of your 
 platitudes just a nod to Stord, and three little 
 drops of chloral in your glass ! 
 
 "Do you want to know what happened next? 
 I ll lay that youVe wondered many a time just what 
 happened after you had so strangely dropped asleep, 
 with your head in your plate. Well, I ll tell you 
 what happened. I sent Stord on the run to Bain- 
 tree s hotel. He bore a message from you. He told 
 the dear captain that you were ill, on your ship, and 
 that you wished very much to see him. You can 
 guess how the old 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 bad 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 277 
 
 man 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 he would come. And as he leaned 
 over you, in your own cabin, I er separated him 
 from his temporal worries with an iron belaying 
 pin from your own rail. Then I gave you the clout 
 for luck (it has left a fine scar, I note) and placed 
 the pin on the table. And thus your chief mate dis 
 covered you when he came on board, you and your 
 victim, and the weapon you used, just as I planned. 
 And your steward s testimony, and my reluctant 
 admissions, finished you. You see, Roy neatness 
 and thoroughness ! 
 
 "I took Stord to sea with me, as my steward. 
 But, unfortunately, he went over the side one dark 
 night, off the Horn. A loose end tucked in, eh, Roy? 
 
 "And I ll tuck in other loose ends between now 
 and dawn you, for instance, and our brave Mister 
 Lynch. I have it already written down for Fitz 
 to copy into the logbook. During the fighting, 
 James Lynch, second mate, was stabbed by one of 
 the mutineers; but owing to the darkness and con 
 fusion his assailant was not recognized. That s 
 how the log will read when we bowse into port. 
 And During the fighting, the sailor, Newman, at 
 tempted to escape from custody, and was shot by 
 the captain. You see, Roy, everything shipshape I 
 A line for each in the log and two loose ends 
 tucked in eliminated! 
 
 "You will have some time in which to think it 
 
278 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 over, before it happens, Roy. You should thank 
 me for that for giving you something to think 
 about. It will take your mind off your pain, eh? 
 Yes, you need something to think about, for you ll 
 hang there for four or five hours yet. No danger 
 of your sleeping, eh, Roy? Well, keep your ears 
 open and you ll be forewarned. There ll be some 
 shooting on deck. I ve gone to a great deal of trou 
 ble to bring it about; your shipmates are a gutless 
 crew, Roy, and I had begun to think I could not 
 get a fight out of them. But the swabs are coming 
 aft at the end of the mid-watch. Eight bells in the 
 mid-watch count the bells, Roy. Eight bells 
 elimination ! 
 
 "Then there will be just one loose end left and 
 you know what I have planned for her! Think 
 about it, Roy think about our darling little Mary ! 
 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 must first remove the incumbent 
 but that, as I explained, is arranged for. He is 
 a greasy cockney, gutter-snipe but useful. I 
 wouldn t think of having him at table with me, Roy 
 but I think I ll let him amuse himself with Maryr 
 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 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 279 
 
 words, and viler threat, had stung him beyond his 
 power of self-control. All the pent-up fury in his 
 soul burst forth 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 to indulge in impotent 
 ravings. 
 
 But the outburst was sufficient to delight Captain 
 Swope. He threw back his head and laughed that 
 chuckling, demon s laugh of his. Delighted why, 
 he could hardly control himself to keep his seat on 
 the keg, 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. "And you have ! Now, we ll 
 see who wins you and God, or Angus and the 
 Devil! Eh, Roy who wins? 
 
 "We ll see, Roy we ll see if God takes your 
 advice. We ll see if He helps you, or Lynch. Or 
 Mary. Ah, the saintly Mary, the pure, the unap 
 proachable! We ll see if He protects her from 
 Fitz s dirty arms, or the greasy kisses of the Cock 
 ney! Eh, Roy? We ll see if He keeps her from 
 eliminating herself! 
 
 "That s the way of it, Roy. Clever yes? Neat^ 
 ness and thoroughness, and everything shipshape 
 and Bristol fashion that s my style, Roy. I know 
 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 
 
280 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 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, the captain 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 do 
 it you know she ll do it!" 
 
 He sat there watching Newman, waiting. I sup 
 pose he expected and desired a fresh outburst from 
 the prisoner. But in this he was disappointed; 
 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 legs spraddled and arms 
 akimbo; drinking in lustfully the picture of the 
 other 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 a woman s 
 never done. I have duties to attend to, Roy. But 
 I will return ah, yes, you know I will return. You ll 
 wait here for me, eh, Roy? Anxiously awaiting my 
 return, counting the bells against my coming. Well 
 remember eight bells in the middle watch." 
 
 He turned and stepped towards the ladder. With 
 his foot raised to the bottom step, he stopped, and 
 stared aloft, mouth agape. I stared too, and lis 
 tened. 
 
 We heard a shot, a single pistol shot. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 281 
 
 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, for I 
 was tensed for the leap. 
 
 But he was uncertain. This was not the hour 
 and the other shots, the volley, we both expected did 
 not come. Instead, came the second mate s voice 
 bellowing orders, "Connolly the wheel! Hard 
 alee! Weather main brace!" 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 the news that came with it was 
 strange and startling. 
 
 "The man at the wheel," shouted Lynch, "has 
 jumped overboard with the mate!" Then his cry 
 went forward, "Man overboard I" 
 
 Swope leaped for the ladder. I saw consterna 
 tion in his face as he scurried 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 the ladder. If he had 
 paused to close the lazaret hatch behind him, 
 he must surely have seen me. But he did not pause; 
 I heard his steps racing up the companion stairs to 
 the poop, and his voice shouting his command: 
 "Watch the main deck, Mister! Light a flare!" 
 
 I threw my arms about Newman, and babbled in 
 his ear. u Oh, the beast! it s I Jack the devil, 
 I heard what he said! come to free you!" 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 so loud they ll hear 
 you!" Aye, his first words, and he smiled into my 
 face. This man on the rack smiled, and thought 
 clearly, whilst I babbled. "Be quick," he bade me. 
 "Cut the lashings." 
 
 I obeyed in jig time. The chains of both the 
 hand and foot irons were secured to the limbers by 
 rope lashings. With two strokes of my knife I 
 severed them. Before I could catch him, Newman 
 fell forward upon his face. His misused limbs 
 
 could not support him. 
 
 282 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 283 
 
 I knelt by his side, sobbing and spluttering, and 
 fishing in my pocket for 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 
 them would have maddened a saint. You will recall 
 that the Old Man had commanded that Newman s 
 wrists be tightly cuffed; and he had seen to it that 
 the leg cuffs were equally tight. Tight ironing was 
 a favorite sport of Swope s; he was notorious for 
 it among sailormen. I saw the results upon 
 Newman. 
 
 The flesh above the irons was puffed and inflamed; 
 the constriction and chafing had broken the skin, 
 and the cuffs upon both arms and legs were buried 
 in the raw wounds. Exquisite agony aye, trust 
 Swope to produce that! I had to push back the 
 swollen, bruised mass before I could insert the little 
 flat key, and effect the release. 
 
 When I had them off, I turned Newman over on 
 his back, and, with my arm about him, prepared to 
 lift him erect. Before I could do so, assistance 
 arrived. Light feet pattered down the lazaret lad 
 der; there was a swish of skirts, a gasp, and the 
 lady was on her knees by Newman s side. "Roy 
 Roy I was in time " she cried. Her arms went 
 around his neck. 
 
 I released him to her for the instant, and 
 straightened up and listened. There was noise on 
 deck, and confusion. The ship was in stays; she 
 hung there, aback. I could hear Lynch, somewhere 
 
284 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 forward, bawling orders; and overhead, Swope sang 
 out to the wheel, and then hailed the roundhouse. 
 
 "Roundhouse, there on deck and lend a hand I 
 Man the lifeboat lifeboat falls, there ! For God s 
 sake, Mister what s the matter there on deck?" 
 
 Oh, he was worried, was Swope. It showed in 
 his voice ; for once his tone was not full and musical, 
 it was shrill and screechy. He was sorely shaken, 
 madly anxious to save his faithful jackal; the Elim 
 inator had not planned Fitzgibbon s removal. 
 
 Thoughts, questions, rushed through my mind. 
 I listened for other sounds, for shots and shouts and 
 sounds of strife. For there was confusion up there 
 on the dark decks, and the captain had forgotten his 
 caution and withdrawn his ambush. I knew that 
 Boston and Blackie would not overlook this chance; 
 promise or no promise they would profit by this 
 occasion. 
 
 It was this thought that spurred me to action. 
 We must get out of this hole we were in ; the lazaret 
 was a trap. The die was cast; the mutiny was on 
 or would be in a moment. 
 
 I said as much to my companions. Newman at 
 tempted 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 and tottered up the ladder with him, 
 the lady assisting as well as she was able. She knew 
 what had happened on deck, and she. told us in a 
 word or two. 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 285 
 
 She had not been able to find Wong (we after 
 wards discovered that Wong had gone forward to 
 the galley, and surprised the crew at a conference, 
 and had been detained prisoner by them), so she 
 crawled up the companion ladder herself, and lurked 
 in the cuddy, waiting for a chance to 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 out 
 his knife and stabbed the mate. More than that, 
 he grasped the mate in his powerful arms, dragged 
 him to the taffrail, and flung him overboard. It 
 happened so quickly that neither Connolly, the 
 tradesman, nor Lynch, both of whom were on 
 the poop, could interfere. But Lynch took a shot 
 at Nigger, and perhaps struck him, for Nigger 
 went over the rail and into the sea with his vic 
 tim. 
 
 It was Nigger, despised, half-lunatic Nigger, who 
 was not in my reckoning, nor in Swope s, who put 
 the match to the tinder and upset such carefully laid 
 plans. As I feared, the revolt of the crew blazed 
 up immediately. My shipmates were eager, too 
 eager. As it turned out, their precipitancy was to 
 cost them their chance of victory, for they began to 
 riot while the three tradesmen were still handy to 
 the roundhouse door, though, indeed, they had no 
 knowledge, as had I, of the captain s ambuscade. 
 
 I staggered into the saloon, and set Newman down 
 
286 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 upon the divan which ran around the half-round, and 
 which was but a step from the hatch. He got to 
 his feet at once, and, though the lady and I stretched 
 out our arms to catch him, this time he did not fall. 
 He swayed drunkenly, and hobbled when he took a 
 step, but such was his vitality and so strong the urge 
 of his will, that life was already returning to his 
 misused limbs. 
 
 It was just then that pandemonium broke out on 
 deck a shot, a string of shots and a bedlam of 
 howls and yells. Overhead was bedlam, too. The 
 skipper s tune changed instanter. He had been sing 
 ing out to Mister Lynch to "topsail haul," and to the 
 tradesmen to man the boat falls but now he was 
 screaming to the latter in a voice shaken with excite 
 ment or panic to regain their posts, to get into 
 the roundhouse and "turn loose on em pepper 
 em ! And, for God s sake, throw out the flares !" 
 
 Oh, the Great Eliminator was shocked most un 
 pleasantly in that moment, I think to discover, 
 when his trusty mate was overboard, that his muti 
 nous crew had firearms ! 
 
 I looked to Newman for orders, for he was now 
 in command of our forlorn hope. But he had his 
 arm about the lady s shoulders, and was speaking 
 urgently into her ear. My thought was of a place 
 to hide. I ran towards the cabin alleyway. I had 
 no intention of going out on that dangerous deck, 
 my object was to see if the inner door to the sail- 
 locker was unlocked. In the sail-locker, I thought, 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 287 
 
 we could hide, the three of us, until the fight died 
 down. 
 
 But my design was frustrated. Before I reached 
 the sail-locker, the door to the deck, at the end of 
 the alleyway, burst open, and the tradesman, Mor 
 ton, pitched headlong over the base-board. He 
 scrambled to his hands and knees and scuttled to 
 wards me. There was a whistling thud near my 
 head. I leaped back into the cabin, out of range, 
 so quickly I tripped and sat down hard upon the 
 deck. For a shot fired after the fleeting Morton 
 had just missed my skull. 
 
 Morton crawled into the saloon, and looked at 
 me with a stupid wonder in his face. He was 
 wounded; he nursed his shoulder, and there was a 
 spreading stain upon his white shirt. 
 
 "They have guns in the rigging," says he. Then 
 he grunted, and collapsed, 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 rattled forward, 
 and I could tell from the sounds that a free fight was 
 raging somewhere on the main deck. But the heavier 
 discharges did not come. For an instant I thought 
 aye, and hoped! that the tradesmen had been 
 cut off from the roundhouse. 
 
 Suddenly the saloon grew bright with a reflected 
 glare. I was on my feet again, and I peered into 
 the alleyway, looking out through the door Morton 
 had opened. The roundhouse cut off any view of 
 
288 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 the main deck, but I could see that the whole deck, 
 aye, the whole ship, was alight 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 some 
 thing Boston and Blackie had not dreamed of. A 
 flare thrown on deck when the men came aft and 
 slaughter made easy for the defenders of the round 
 house ! 
 
 Something of this I spoke aloud to Newman. 
 There was no answer, and I became conscious he 
 was not behind me. I wheeled about. Newman, 
 with the lady s assistance, was hobbling up the lad 
 der to the deck above. I swore my amazement and 
 dismay at what seemed to me madness, but I hur 
 ried after them, and emerged on the poop at their 
 heels. 
 
 The night was banished by the strong light flaring 
 forward. That was my impression when I leaped 
 out on deck. When I turned forward, I saw the 
 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 upon the deck both to 
 port and starboard. Everything on the decks was 
 brightly revealed, every ringbolt, the pins in the 
 rails, deadeyes, sails, gear, aye, every rope in the 
 rigging was boldly etched against the glowing back- 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 289 
 
 ground. With that one sweeping glance I took in 
 the scene. High up in the main rigging, almost to 
 the futtock shrouds, the figure of a man was re 
 vealed: he was blazing away in the direction of the 
 poop with a revolver. On the deck, near the main 
 mast, the second mate was laying about him with a 
 capstan bar, and a dozen men seemed boiling over 
 each other in efforts to close with him. Other fig 
 ures lay motionless upon the deck. 
 
 So much for what I saw forward; what concerned 
 me that instant was what was right before my eyes. 
 Captain Swope was leaning against the mizzen fife 
 rail, screened by the mast from those forward, re 
 turning the fire of the man in the rigging but no, 
 even as I clapped eyes upon him, he shot, and I saw 
 he aimed, not at the man in the rigging, but at the 
 group fighting on the deck. At his second officer, 
 no less! Aye, and I understood in a flash why I 
 had not heard the shotguns; the tradesmen had not 
 Swope s murderous intent towards Mister Lynch, 
 and they held their fire because they could not rake 
 the gang without hitting Lynch. 
 
 The tradesman, Connolly, was crouched against 
 the companion hatch; he was staring after Newman 
 and the lady, mouth agape. He saw them directly 
 they appeared on deck, which Swope did not. He 
 raised his gun uncertainly, then lowered it, then 
 raised it again, covering Newman s broad back 
 and by that time I was upon him, my clutch was 
 upon his wrist, and my right fist impacted violently 
 
290 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 against his head. It was a knockout blow, at the 
 base of the brain, and he slumped down, uncon 
 scious. 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 the attention 
 of the whole ship, as well. 
 
 For Newman had marched into the light. He 
 stood now almost at the forward poop rail, with his 
 arms raised above his head; and he sent his voice 
 forward in a stentorian hail, a cry that was like a 
 thunderclap. 
 
 "Stop fighting, lads! Stop it, I say! It is I 
 Newman! Stop fighting and go for ard!" 
 
 If ever a human face showed amazement and dis 
 comfiture, Swope s did. He had been so busy at his 
 game of potting his officer he did not see Newman 
 until the latter walked into his range of vision and 
 sent forth his hail. He could have shot Newman 
 then, and I could not have prevented, for he had 
 his weapon leveled. But this sudden apparition 
 seemed to paralyze him; he just lowered his arm, 
 and stared. 
 
 It startled and paralyzed all hands. The struggle 
 on the main deck ceased abruptly. It was the 
 strangest thing I ever beheld, the way Newman s 
 thunderous command seemed to turn to graven 
 images the men on deck. They were frozen into 
 grotesque attitudes, arms drawn back to strike, boots 
 lifted to kick. Mister Lynch stood with his capstan 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 291 
 
 bar poised, as though he were at bat in a baseball 
 game. Every face was lifted to the giant figure 
 standing there on the poop. I even saw in the bril 
 liant light a white face framed in one of the port 
 holes in the roundhouse. 
 
 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 big man s character superiority, such was the 
 dominance his personality had acquired over our 
 minds. I tell you, we of the foc sle looked upon 
 Newman as of different clay; it was not alone my 
 hero-worship that magnified his stature, in all our 
 eyes he was one of the great, a being apart from and 
 above us. 
 
 And not only foc sle eyes regarded him in this 
 light. There were the tradesmen peering out of the 
 roundhouse ports, with never a thought in their 
 minds of disobeying his injunction. I had it from 
 their own lips afterwards; it was not just surprise 
 at the big fellow s sudden appearance that stayed 
 their hands, it was the power of his personality. 
 There was Mister Lynch, arrested by Newman s 
 voice in mid-stroke, as it were. There was Swope, 
 standing palsied and impotent, with a growing ter 
 ror in his face. 
 
 "Go for ard, lads! Go below! Come up here, 
 Lynch! Not another blow, men for ard with 
 you!" 
 
292 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 The frozen figures on the deck came to life. 
 There was a murmur, a shuffling of feet, and Lynch 
 lowered his great club. But it was an obedient 
 noise. 
 
 From one quarter came the single note of dissent. 
 The man in the main rigging sang out. It was 
 Boston s voice. 
 
 "Go aft, mates!" he shouted. "We ve got them 
 we ve won don t listen to him !" Then he threw 
 his voice at Newman. "Damn you, Big Un, you ve 
 spoiled the game!" A flash followed the oath, 
 and a splinter flew from the deck at Newman s 
 feet. 
 
 There was a flash from my gun as well. I fired 
 without taking conscious aim; I swear, an invisible 
 hand seemed to lift my arm, a finger not mine seemed 
 to press the trigger and that greedy, murderous 
 rascal in the rigging screamed, and loosed his hold. 
 He struck the sheer 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 eyes from 
 the rigging, I saw he had left his refuge behind the 
 mizzenmast and was standing in the open deck. Aye, 
 there he stood in that light, which had reached its 
 maximum, revealed to all eyes and stamped upon 
 his face was an expression of insane fury so terrible 
 and deadly he seemed not a human being at all, but 
 a mad beast crouched to spring. His lips were 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 293 
 
 drawn back from his teeth, and a froth appeared 
 upon his black 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 turn around; or perhaps it was 
 the feel of Swope s burning eyes that spun her about 
 so quickly. He was raising his arm, the arm that 
 held the gun, not quickly but slowly and carefully. 
 With a stab of horror I saw him aim, not at the 
 man, but at the woman. 
 
 No outside power this time seemed to aid me. I 
 shot. I should have hit the beast, he was not ten 
 paces distant but only a click answered when my 
 hammer fell. My gun was empty. I threw up my 
 arm, intending to hurl the weapon, and I think I 
 cried out. Swope shot and the lady threw 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. What happened after 
 that shot must be measured by seconds. 
 
 For the lady was still falling, and my hand was 
 still reaching behind me 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 grips with the captain. There was 
 another flash from Swope s revolver, in Newman s 
 very face. It was a miss, for Newman s hands 
 helpless lumps of flesh but a few moments before 
 
294 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 closed upon Swope s neck. I saw Newman s face. 
 It was a terrible face, the face of an enraged and 
 smiting god. The great scar stood out like a dark 
 line painted upon his forehead. 
 
 He lifted Swope from his feet with that throat 
 grip. He whirled him like a flail, and smashed him 
 down upon the deck, and let him go. And there 
 Yankee Swope lay, sprawled, and still, his head bent 
 back at a fatal angle. A broken neck, as a glance 
 at the lolling head would inform; and, as we dis 
 covered later, a broken back as well. It was death 
 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. He had turned to the lady, with 
 a cry in his throat, a low cry of pain and grief 
 which changed at once to a shout of gladness. For 
 the lady was stirring, getting to her feet, or trying 
 to. 
 
 Newman gathered her slight form into his great 
 arms. I heard him exclaim, "Where, Mary? Did 
 it " And she answered, dazedly, "I am all right 
 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. She seemed like a child held to 
 his breast. He spoke to the men below in a hushed, 
 solemn voice. 
 
 "It is ended," he said. "Swope is dead." 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 295 
 
 As he stood there, the flares commenced to go out. 
 One by one they guttered and extinguished, and the 
 black night swept down like a falling curtain. 
 
 Five bells chimed in the cabin. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 IT was the end, even as Newman said. The end 
 of the mutiny, the end of hate and dissension in 
 that ship, the end, for us, of Newman, himself, 
 and the lady. Peace came to the Golden 
 Bough that night, for the first time, I suppose, in 
 her bitter, blood-stained history. A peace that 
 was bought with suffering and death, as we dis 
 covered when we reckoned the cost of the night s 
 work. 
 
 Swope was dead for which there was a prayer 
 of thanks in every man s heart. Fitzgibbon was 
 gone, and the Nigger. Boston was dead at my 
 hand; his partner, Blackie, lay stark in the scup 
 pers, as did also the stiff named Green, each with 
 a bashed in skull, the handiwork of Mister 
 Lynch. 
 
 Such was the death list for that night s work. It 
 was no heavier I think though of much different 
 complexion than the list Captain Swope had 
 planned. 
 
 As for wounded God s truth, the Golden Bough 
 was manned by a crew of cripples for weeks after. 
 Lynch had wrought terribly, there on the main deck 
 broken pates, broken fingers, a cracked wrist, a 
 broken foot, and three men wounded, though not 
 
 296 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 297 
 
 seriously, by Swope s and Connolly s shots. Such 
 were the foc sle s lighter casualties. Aft, the list 
 was shorter. Morton had a bullet wound in the 
 shoulder; it would 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 
 his clothes were slashed to ribbons, otherwise he had 
 escaped scathless. 
 
 The lady was not really hurt at all. Swope s 
 bullet plowed through her mass of hair, creasing 
 her so lightly the skin was unbroken, though the im 
 pact 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 was Newman 
 made me bo sun of the deck in the labor of bring 
 ing order out of chaos. I rallied the unhurt and 
 lightly hurt, and we carried the worse injured into 
 the cabin, where the lady and Newman attended 
 them. I opened the barricaded galley, and freed the 
 frightened Chinamen, Wong and the cook and 
 the cabin boy, and Holy Joe, the parson. As I 
 learned afterwards, Holy Joe, when he learned 
 of the intended mutiny, threatened, in vain at 
 tempt to stop it, to go aft and blow the plot. 
 Blackie and Boston wanted to kill him for the 
 threat, but the squareheads would not have it so, 
 and he was shut up in the galley with the China 
 men. 
 
 By Lynch s order, we launched the dinghy, and, 
 
298 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 with me at the tiller and two lordly tradesmen at 
 the oars, set out in humane but hopeless quest 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. Fitz- 
 gibbon had been stabbed, and it was known, also, 
 that he did not know how to swim; and as for the 
 Nigger, "I plugged him as he jumped," said Lynch. 
 
 When we got back, Lynch had me muster 
 the available hands, and we launched the long 
 boat. All the rest of the night, Wong and his 
 two under-servants cargoed that craft with stores 
 of every kind. 
 
 One other man had lost his mess number in that 
 ship, we discovered, as the 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 I could discover. But when I looked for 
 him, I became conscious of a new attitude towards 
 me on the part of my shipmates. I had been their 
 mate, in a way their leader and champion. Now, by 
 virtue of Lynch s word and Newman s I was 
 their boss. I was no longer one of them. Aye, and 
 sailorlike they showed it by their reserve. They said 
 truthfully enough they did not know what had be 
 come of Cockney and they kept their guesses to 
 themselves. But my own guess was as good, and as 
 true. Boston and Blackie had attended to Cockney. 
 I could imagine how. A knife across the windpipe 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 299 
 
 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 the yards as they were, and 
 drifted all the rest of the night. I, and the un- 
 wounded tradesmen, kept the deck; in the cabin, the 
 lady and Newman labored, and conferred with 
 Lynch and Holy Joe. Aye, Holy Joe, as well as my 
 self, was lifted to higher estate by that night s 
 happenings. He lived aft, even as I, the rest 
 of the voyage, and was doctor of bodies as well as 
 souls. 
 
 Near dawn, they called me into the cabin, and put 
 dead man s shoes upon my feet, so to speak. 
 
 "Shreve, it is my duty to take the ship into port," 
 says Lynch. "What will be the outcome of to 
 night s work, I do not know. But I do not fear. 
 My testimony, and that of the sailmakers and car 
 penters, to say nothing of your story, and the stories 
 of the other men forward, will be more than suffi 
 cient to convince any court of justice. There will be 
 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 the poor shaking wretches in the 
 foc sle. 
 
 "You understand, I am captain for the remainder 
 of the passage," Lynch went on. "And I have de 
 cided to appoint you chief mate. Connolly will be 
 second mate." 
 
300 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 Aye, that was it. Jack Shreve, chief mate of the 
 Golden Bough! "I have decided," says Lynch 
 but I knew the decision belonged to Newman and 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 and worthless 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 he was 
 to me, you will be a lucky man, Captain." 
 
 The sky was just graying with the coming day 
 when the two left the ship. But before they went 
 over the side, there took place in the growing light 
 on the deck before the cabin a scene as strange and 
 solemn as any I have seen since. Holy Joe married 
 them,. there on the deck and in the scuppers, behind 
 the lady s back, covered up with a spare sail, lay 
 the ship s dead, Yankee Swope among them. Aye, 
 the parson tied the knot, for this life and next, as 
 he said, and I was best man, and Captain Lynch gave 
 away the bride. 
 
 "Roy Waldon, do you take this woman " that 
 was the way the parson put it, standing there before 
 them, with his one good hand holding the Book, 
 peering up into Newman s face through his puffed, 
 blackened eyes. A minister in dungaree! "Mary 
 Swope, do you take this man " that was how he 
 
THE BLOOD SHIP 301 
 
 put it. And though the lady s face was wan and 
 haggard, yet there 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 craft caught the 
 breeze and scudded away from us. We lined the 
 rail, lame men and well men, and cheered our fare 
 well. I wept. 
 
 A long time we watched them. The sun leaped 
 up from the sea, and the longboat seemed to sail into 
 its golden heart; and after the sun had risen 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. So did Lynch. Side by side, we 
 watched the speck dip over the rim of the sea. 
 
 Lynch sighed, and walked away. I heard him 
 exclaim, and turned to observe him picking up some 
 thing 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 of the sun. Aye, 
 and there was that in his eyes which opened mine. 
 I began at last to understand Bucko Lynch "Cap 
 tain" Lynch as he was to remain to the end of his 
 days. I knew from that look in his eyes why no 
 parson would now ever say to him, "Do you take 
 this woman?" 
 
 Slowly, Lynch put the little wisp of hair into his 
 
302 THE BLOOD SHIP 
 
 waistcoat pocket. He drew a deep breath, and 
 shrugged his shoulders ; then he hailed me with sea- 
 manly brusqueness. 
 
 4 Lively, now, Mister we ll put the ship on her 
 course!" 
 
 "Yes, Captain," I answered. And the "Mister" 
 roared his first command along those decks. 
 
 THE END 
 
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