My eyes met those of Boston and Blackie, eyeing me speculatively, and the contact brought my musing to a sharp turn.  What did Boston and Blackie 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 enterprise.  And what was this “rich lay” they spoke of?  What was this game they were willing I should enter?  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 getting 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 Newman,

“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,” continued the second mate.  “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 doing this for your sake.  Well—­you understand.  And 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 himself 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 presence.  We missed the visits; they would have brightened the cruel days.  But I don’t think any man felt 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.