his men. Aye, a man might
fancy from their behavior that the lot of them aft possessed a sudden
fear of the crew. Even the tradesmen were publicly ordered to treat
the men with civility. But I didn't fancy they were afraid. I knew
better. It was part of the game Swope was playing.

"I took the trick when Nils died," explained Newman, when I asked him
what the new program meant, "and now our sweet captain is dealing a new
hand, from a cold deck. He is nursing the scum, because this time he
will strike through them, instead of through the squareheads."

By "scum," Newman meant our unsavory mob of stiffs. And indeed they
were being "nursed," and without even suspecting it. Inevitably, the
unwonted gentleness of the men aft was interpreted as weakness and
fear, and of course their stiffs' courage mounted and slopped over.
Aye, he was a canny brute, was Captain Swope; he knew just how to play
such a crowd as we were. And I think he thoroughly enjoyed such a
cat-and-mouse game.

There was valorous talk in the foc'sle, and half-veiled insolence on
deck. These cringing stiffs began to swank and swagger. They began to
bluster openly about what they could do and would do; they began to
tell each other how easy it would be to "dump 'em over, and take charge
o' the hooker." That's the sort they were. It took bucko methods to
keep them decent.

Blackie and Boston were plainly jubilant over this turn of events. Now
they were fairly shrewd men, even if they were damned rascals, and one
would have thought they possessed sufficient insight to at least be
suspicious of the skipper's sudden 'bout-face. But they were not.
They were just as convinced as the rest of the stiffs that the
afterguard had suddenly become afraid of the foc'sle. Just lack of
imagination, I suppose; I've read that it is usually a characteristic
of professional criminals.

They ceased hinting darkly and whispering in corners, and came out
fiat-footed with their great news. Aye, and it was a weighty argument
with the stiffs. Even though they knew about it already--as most of
them did--it was a delight to talk about it openly. There was money in
the hooker. That is what made their tongues wag. Aye, money; kegs and
kegs of shining trade dollars, aft in the lazaret, to be had for the
taking by lads with stiff backbones. And their backbones were stiff
enough for the job. So Boston and Blackie told them, so Cockney told
them, so they told each