eradicable hall-mark of the sea which was the
arena of their lives; they salted the barren place with its vigor and
pungency. Pausing within the door, Tom Mowbray sent his pale
inexpressive glance flickering along the faces they turned towards
him.

"Well, boys," he said; "takin' it easy fer a spell?"

There was a murmur of reply from the men; they watched him warily,
knowing that he was not genial for nothing. He was a man of fifty or
more, bloated in body, with an immobile grey face and a gay white
moustache that masked his gross and ruthless mouth. He was dressed
like any other successful merchant, bulging waistcoat, showy linen
and all; the commodity in which he dealt was the flesh and blood of
seamen, and his house was eminent among those which helped the
water-front of San Francisco "the Barbary Coast," as sailors call it
to its unholy fame. He stood among the sunburnt, steady-eyed seamen
like a fungus in fresh grass.

"An' now, who's for a good ship?" he inquired. There was a sort of
mirth in his voice as he spoke. "Good wages, good grub, an' a soft
job. Don't all of ye speak at once."

The sailors eyed him warily. From the end of the room a white-haired
American looked up wryly.

"What's her name?" he asked.

"Name?" Tom Mowbray kept his countenance, though the name was the
cream of the joke. He paused, watching the faces of those who had
been ashore a week and were due to ship again when he should give the
word. "Oh, you don't want to be scared of her name; her name's all
right. She's the Etna."

Somebody laughed, and Tom Mowbray gave him an approving glance; the
others interchanged looks. The Etna had a reputation familiar to
seamen and a nickname too; they called her the "Hell-packet." Of all
the tall and beautiful ships which maintained their smartness and
their beauty upon the agony of wronged and driven seamen, the Etna
was the most terrible, a blue-water penitentiary, a floating place of
torment. To enhance the strange terror of her, the bitter devil who
was her captain carried his wife on board; the daily brutalities that
made her infamous went on under the eyes and within the hearing of a
woman; it added a touch of the grotesque to what was otherwise
fearful enough.

Tom Mowbray stood enjoying the dumb consternation of his victims.

"Well, who's for it?" he inquired. "Ain't there none of you that
wants a good ship like that Noo York an' back here, an' eighteen
dollars a month? Well, I s'pos