I sized them up.  Sailors and stiffs, they stood shoulder to shoulder.  There was no longer a division in that crowd.  And they looked to me 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?”

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 second 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 relieved him,” I went on, “was a command to prevent this trouble.  He said his life, and hers, depended on our keeping quiet.”

“And how about us, how about our lives?” demanded 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 Lor’, 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 driving the men.

“They know we are talking mutiny—­yes, and what’s more, they know who’s talking mutiny.”