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 dominant 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 suddenly 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 position much coveted and eagerly striven for in most ships, decided only after combat between the fighting 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 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 command 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 understand, 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 companions 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.