't put sailormen on board. He hired
runners to oversee the disposal of the slaves. The most he did was
lounge in the sternsheets of his Whitehall while his retainers rowed
him out to a ship to interview the captain, and collect his blood
money. It was unusual for the Swede to go down to the dock with a
couple of men; and now, he was going to fasten his lordly hands upon a
pair of oars and row us out to our vessel!

"Say, what is the idea?" I demanded of Newman. "We are no flaming
dukes to be coddled this way!"

Newman placed his hand upon my shoulders. "What say you call it off,
lad?" he said. "That hell-ship yonder is no proper berth for you.
Take my advice, and dodge around the corner with your bag. I can fix
it with the Swede, all right."

I should have liked to have taken the advice, I admit. I was not in
nearly such a vainglorious mood as I had been back in the Swede's
barroom, with the waterfront applauding me. If Newman had offered to
dodge around the corner with me, I'd have gone. The aspect of that
empty wharf was depressing, and there was something sinister about all
these unusual circumstances surrounding our joining the ship. I began
to feel that there was something wrong about the _Golden Bough_ besides
her bucko mates, and I possessed the superstitions of my kind. But
Newman did not offer to dodge around the corner with me. He was merely
advising me, in a fatherly, pitying fashion that my nineteen-year-old
manhood could not stomach.

"I shipped in her, and I'll sail in her," I told him, shortly. "I can
stand as much hell as any man, and I'd join her if I had to swim for
it. That flaming packet can't scare me away; I'll take a pay-day from
her, yet!" I was bound I'd live up to my reputation as a hard case! I
was letting Newman know I was just as proper a nut as himself.

The Swede hailed us from the darkness beyond. We reached the wharf
edge, and dimly made out the Swede's huge bulk squatting in a Whitehall
boat below. "Yump in!" he bade us. We tossed our bags down, followed
ourselves, and a moment later I was bidding farewell to the beach.

The Swede lay back manfully on the oars, grunting with every stroke.
He was expert; he seemed to make nothing of the inrushing tide, and
quickly ferried us out into the fairway. Newman and I sat together in
the sternsheets, each wrapped in his mantle of dignified silence. I
kept my eyes on the black bulk of the vessel we were rapidly nearing,