We had entered the trades and were making good time.  I was content to stay on deck, even in my watch below.  The wind was strong, the waves dashing, the sky very blue.  From under our forefoot the flying fish sped, the monsters pursued them.  A tingle of spray was in the air.  It was all very pleasant.  The red handkerchief around Solomon’s head made a pretty spot of colour against the blue of the sky and the darker blue of the sea.  Silhouetted over the flaw-less white of the deck house was the sullen, polished profile of the Nigger.  Beneath me the ship swerved and leaped, yielded and recovered.  I breathed deep, and saw cutlasses in harmless shadows.  It was two years ago.  I was young—­then——­

At the mess hour I stood in doubt.  However, I was informed by the captain’s falsetto that I was to eat in the cabin.  As the only other officer, I ate alone, after the others had finished, helping myself from the dishes left on the table.  It was a handsome cabin, well kept, with white woodwork spotlessly clean, leather cushions—­much better than one would expect.  I afterwards found that the neatness of this cabin and of the three staterooms was maintained by the Nigger—­at peril of his neck.  A rack held a dozen rifles, five revolvers, and,—­at last—­my cutlasses.  I examined the lot with interest.  They were modern weapons,—­the new high power 30-40 box-magazine rifle, shooting government ammunition,—­and had been used.  The revolvers were of course the old 45 Colt’s.  This was an extraordinary armament for a peaceable schooner of one hundred and fifty tons burden.

The rest of the cabin’s fittings were not remarkable.  By the configuration of the ship I guessed that two of the staterooms must be rather large.  I could make out voices within.

On deck I talked with Captain Selover.

“She’s a snug craft,” I approached him.

He nodded.

“You have armed her well.”

He muttered something of pirates and the China seas.

I laughed.

“You have arms enough to give your crew about two magazine rifles apiece—­unless you filled all your berths forward!”

Captain Selover looked me direct in the eye.

“Talk straight, Mr. Eagen,” said he.

“What is this ship, and where is she bound?” I asked, with equal simplicity.

He considered.

“As for the ship,” he replied at length, “I don’t mind saying.  You’re my first officer, and on you I depend if it comes to—­well, the small arms below.  If the ship’s a little under the shade, why, so are you.  She’s by way of being called a manner of hard names by some people.  I do not see it myself.  It is a matter of conscience.  If you would ask some interested, they would call her a smuggler, a thief, a wrecker, and all the other evil titles in the catalogue.  She has taken in Chinks by way of Santa Cruz Island—­if that is smuggling.  The country is free, and a Chink is a man.  Besides, it paid ten dollars a head for the landing.  She has carried in a cargo or so of junk; it was lying on the beach where a fool master had piled it, and I took what I found.  I couldn’t keep track of the underwriters’ intentions.”