“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 matter.  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, particularly; 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 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 bringing 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 important 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 ahead of us, and I’ll gladly spin the yarn.  You say, sir, you are interested in ships, and sailors, and, particularly, in ‘King’ Waldon’s history.  Well, perhaps you may find some material of use 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.  Human beings set down upon those decks to work out their separate destinies as Fate and character directed.  Aye, and their characters, and the motives that inspired their acts, were diverse enough, heaven knows.