and could have wiped the deck with him
in short order--though, of course, a quick death would have rewarded
any such attempt upon the master of the _Golden Bough_. Nor was his
face ill to look at. Indeed, he had a handsome face, though beard and
mustache covered half of it, and there was a peculiar and disturbing
glitter in his black eyes. Some of my fear was caused, I think, by the
sinister softness of his voice. But most of it was caused by the
impression the man, himself, gave--call it personality, if you like.
It was much like the impression of utter recklessness that Newman gave,
only in Yankee Swope's case it was not recklessness, but utter
wickedness. An aura of evil seemed to cling about him, he walked about
in an atmosphere of black iniquity that was horrifying. Any foremast
hand would look after Yankee Swope and say, "There--he's sold his soul
to the Devil! He's a bad one, a real bad one, and no mistake!"

So I looked after him, and thought, while he paced the poop, and I held
the wheel. "You're in for it, Shreve!" I thought. "This packet is so
hot she sizzles, and this Old Man is a bad egg, and no fatal error!
There will be bloody, sudden death before this passage is ended, or I'm
a ruddy soldier!"

Standing there at the wheel, with one eye upon Captain Swope and the
other upon my work, I found I owned a full measure of rueful thoughts.
The _Golden Bough_ was an eye-opener to me, used though I was to hard
ships and hard men. I wished I had not shown myself such a hard case
back there in the Swede's. I cursed myself for the vainglorious fool I
was for having put myself in such a hole. The only rift in my cloud of
gloom was Lynch; the second mate seemed favorably disposed towards me,
I reflected, and had promised to choose me for his watch. He said I
would be safe if I jumped lively to my work. I promised myself to do
that same, for I foresaw a cruel fate for the malingering man aboard
that vessel.

From Lynch, my thoughts naturally jumped to Newman. What had become of
him? Deserted, as Lynch had declared? Developed a craven streak, and
cleared out? No. My grim, reserved companion of the night before had
had some strong, secret purpose in joining the _Golden Bough_; if he
had deserted, I knew it was in obedience to that same hidden purpose,
and not from fear of ship or officers.

It was while I was speculating about Newman's disappearance that Mister
Lynch came aft and reported that fact