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 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 relieved, 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 peaceful 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 a minister.  Reason, command, do your best to convince 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 another man’s quarrel?  And you believe in me, eh, Jack?”