his long voyage he was starting.
The words seemed to wash clean our minds. For the moment the most
vicious man in that hard and vicious crowd thought cleanly and
innocently. Our wrongs and hatreds seemed small and of little
consequence. Aye, while Holy Joe prayed for the dead we stood about
like a group of awed children. When he was finished praying, he
recited the beautiful words of the Service, and raised his hand--and
the pall-bearers tipped their burden into the sea.

Silently we listened to the dull splash, silently we watched the four
men lower the stage to the deck. It was over. The parson fell into
step with Newman, and the two paced up and down, conversing in low
tones. The crowd dispersed.

Some of my watch went into the foc'sle, to their bunks. Most of the
men sat about the decks, and smoked and talked in whispers. But the
topic of Nils was avoided, as was talk of mutiny. The squareheads did
not mutter threats, the stiffs did not curse. The spell of the
parson's words was still upon us, and peace reigned.

Newman had won, I thought, and danger was passed.

I found the Nigger seated upon the fore-bitts, whetting his knife upon
a stone. There was something sinisterly suggestive about his
occupation at that hour; it was the first break in the strange calm
which had fallen upon the crew.

"Tell me, Nigger, who's the man that's spying on the big fellow?" I
said abruptly, as I sat down beside him.

Nigger did not pause in his work, but he turned his battered face to
me. A couple of days before he had fallen afoul of the mate's brass
knuckles for perhaps the twentieth time since he had been in the ship,
and his face was a mass of bruised flesh, a shocking sight, even though
his color hid the extent of his injuries.

The Nigger had been, perhaps, the worst misused man in the crew--and
this notwithstanding the fact he was by far the best sailor in the port
watch. But Fitzgibbon hated "damned niggers," especially did he hate
"these spar-colored half-breeds," as he was fond of calling this
fellow. I do believe he chose the Nigger for his watch so he might
pummel him to his heart's content. Beat him up he had, constantly, and
without cause, and as a result Nigger had become a surly, moody man.

"Who say dat Ah know?" demanded Nigger, in reply to my question.

"Boston said so."

"Dat man's too free wif his lip. Ah don't tell him Ah knows who's the
spy; Ah tells him Ah knows dey is one."

I w