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.

The lady was doing what she could to aid us. She held, every morning,
a levee in the cabin for the lame and sick, all who could drag
themselves aft, and tended them skillfully. But this did not help the
bedridden ones. It did not help young Nils.

But nothing could have helped Nils. The bucko had done his work too
well. Not once did the boy rally; daily and visibly his life ebbed.

You must understand the callous indifference of the afterguard to
realize its effect upon the foc'sle. The boy lay dying for weeks, and
not once did the Captain come forward to look at him. Medicines and
opiates were sent forward by the lady, but, though they eased the chap,
they were powerless to salvage his wrecked body. Newman said Nils'
ribs were sticking into his lungs.

Lindquist went aft to ask permission to move the boy to the cabin,
where the lady could nurse him. Swope blackguarded the man, and
Fitzgibbon kicked him forward. Lynch ignored the very existence of
Nils---the lad was not of his watch, and the whole matter was none of
his business. But Mister Fitz came into the port foc'sle every day, to
make sure Nils could not stand on his feet and turn to; and on deck he
would sing out to his watch that Nils' fate was the fate of each man
did he not move livelier. "Jump, you rats! I'll put you all in your
bunks!" he would tell them.

The sight of their young landsman in agony stirred the berserk in the
squareheads of the crew. It made them ripe for revolt, drove them to
lawless acts, as their shanghaiing and the brutality of the officers
could not have done.

These squareheads were no strangers to each other. They were all
friends and old shipmates. The Knitting Swede had crimped them all out
of a Norwegian bark, plied them with drink, and put them on board the
_Golden Bough_ after he had promised to find them a high-waged coasting
ship.

Young Nils was a sort of mascot in this crowd. He was making his first
deep-water voyage under their protect