The second mate was seldom aft during the two hours I stood at the wheel.  The times he did appear, he engaged in conversation with the Old Man, beyond my hearing.  But near midnight be clumped aft hurriedly, bringing the tradesmen with him.  The strollers happened to be near me at the moment he appeared, and he came towards them, speaking.

“Well, sir—­he’s gone,” he said.

So I knew that Nils was dead.

“Very good,” said Swope.  “And the hands?”

“All quiet, sir.”

Mister Lynch’s voice was quite respectful, but I fancied I detected in it a note of contempt.

“There was danger of trouble, even before the boy went out,” he went on.  “Morton stood by the door and heard it all.”  This Morton was the sailmaker in the starboard watch.  “The big Cockney in the port watch was all for trouble, a rush aft of all hands; he said he had the backing of my watch.  The squareheads were willing; they want revenge.  But the big jasper in my watch, Newman, went into the foc’sle and squelched the scheme with a word.  He clapped a stopper on the Cockney’s jaw, and told the squareheads there was to be no trouble.  So there will be none, Captain.”

A black curse slid out of the skipper’s mouth.  Aye, the man breathed fury.

“So—­he commands for’ard, eh?” he said.  “Well, I command aft.”  He seemed to think over the matter for a moment, and arrive at a decision.  “Well, Mister, if it doesn’t happen to-night, it may happen another night,” he said.  “Tell your men to keep their eyes and ears open.  And—­better have that body carted aft, and your sailmaker fit him to canvas.  We’ll dump him at dawn.”

“Very good, sir,” replied Lynch, and he went forward again.

The Old Man and the mate immediately went into conference.  They moved over to the rail, and spoke in soft tones, so I overheard nothing they said.  A ray of light from the companion hatch fell upon them, and watching them furtively, it seemed to me that Captain Swope was laying down the law to Fitzgibbon, giving him certain orders, to which he at first objected, and then agreed.

It looked wicked to me, this secretive conversation.  My excited mind saw evil in it.  I smelled evil, tasted evil, the very skin of my body was prickled with the air or evil that lay upon the ship.  A case of nerves?  Aye, I had nerves.  Most sailormen had nerves when they were within sight of Captain Swope.  This night he seemed to drench the ship with evil, it poured out of him as ink from a squid, it was almost something tangible.  Somehow I knew that Newman’s long grace was ended.  This black villain had prepared a net to trap my friend, and was even now casting it.  Somehow I knew that fresh wrongs and miseries were to be heaped upon the wretched foc’sle.  As I watched Captain Swope out of the corners of my eyes, God’s truth, I was afraid to my marrow.

Presently the second mate returned aft.  “You may have your trouble now, Captain, if you wish,” he said in the same clear, carrying voice he had before used, as he approached the skipper.  “The squareheads won’t give up the body.  They’ll fight if we take it.  They say they’ll drop him overside themselves.”