eamed on the
frightened faces of the men.

Those of the 'midship-house were not present, but every man Jack of the
forecastle, with the exception of Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs, as I
afterwards learned, had joined in the flight aft. Andy Fay, who belonged
in the watch below, had calmly remained in his bunk, while Mulligan
Jacobs had taken advantage of the opportunity to sneak into the
forecastle and fill his pipe.

"What is the matter, Mr. Pike?" Captain West asked.

Before the mate could reply, Bert Rhine snickered:

"The devil's come aboard, sir."

But his snicker was palpably an assumption of unconcern he did not
possess. The more I think over it the more I am surprised that such keen
men as the gangsters should have been frightened by what had occurred.
But frightened they were, the three of them, out of their bunks and out
of the precious surcease of their brief watch below.

So fear-struck was Larry that he chattered and grimaced like an ape, and
shouldered and struggled to get away from the dark and into the safety of
the shaft of light that shone out of the chart-house. Tony, the Greek,
was just as bad, mumbling to himself and continually crossing himself. He
was joined in this, as a sort of chorus, by the two Italians, Guido
Bombini and Mike Cipriani. Arthur Deacon was almost in collapse, and he
and Chantz, the Jew, shamelessly clung to each other for support. Bob,
the fat and overgrown youth, was sobbing, while the other youth, Bony the
Splinter, was shivering and chattering his teeth. Yes, and the two best
sailors for'ard, Tom Spink and the Maltese Cockney, stood in the
background, their backs to the dark, their faces yearning toward the
light.

More than all other contemptible things in this world there are two that
I loathe and despise: hysteria in a woman; fear and cowardice in a man.
The first turns me to ice. I cannot sympathize with hysteria. The
second turns my stomach. Cowardice in a man is to me positively
nauseous. And this fear-smitten mass of human animals on our reeling
poop raised my gorge. Truly, had I been a god at that moment, I should
have annihilated the whole mass of them. No; I should have been merciful
to one. He was the Faun. His bright, pain-liquid, and flashing-eager
eyes strained from face to face with desire to understand. He did not
know what had occurred, and, being stone-deaf, had thought the rush aft a
response to a call for all hands.

I noticed Mr. M