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Arrived on the forecastle, I snatched the telescope from the hands of the look-out as he flourished the instrument toward the boat, with the remark: "There she comes, sir, and the buckos in her seem to be in a tearin' hurry, too. See how they're makin' the spray fly and the oars buckle! They're workin' harder just now than they've done for many a long day, I'll warrant."
Therefore, the colonizations in the slums and the appointing of notorious buckos to positions where they would control the ballot boxes could be directed only against the Workingmen's League. Kelly must have accurate information that the League was likely, or at least not unlikely, to win. Victor had thought he had so schooled himself that victory and defeat were mere words to him.
It was unprecedented, that occurrence. A foremast hand badgering the captain on his own poop deck; badgering Yankee Swope of the Golden Bough, whilst his two trusty buckos stood by inactive and gaping. But, as I explained, there was an air about Newman that said "Hands off!"
There were Lynch and Fitzgibbon, the buckos, living up to their grim code; and the Knitting Swede, that prince of crimps, who put most of us into the ship. There was myself, with my childish vanity, and petty ambitions. There was the lady, the beautiful, despairing lady aft, wife of the infamous brute who ruled us. There was Cockney, the gutless swab, whose lying words nearly had Newman's life.
I cursed myself for a stupid fool not to have known Cockney was the spy. I should have known. He was that sort, a bully and a boot-licker by turns. In the foc'sle he was more violent than any other in his denunciation of the buckos; on deck he cringed before them. He had always fawned upon Newman, but I suspected he hated my friend, because of what happened in the Knitting Swede's.
There was something behind the words. "Small chance of your seeing her finish," I said. "As well found a ship as there is afloat and you may call the Old Man and his buckos what you will, but they are sailormen." "I've heard of ships sinking in storms," says he. "You talk like the stiff you are," I scoffed. "Show me the weather that will drown the Golden Bough, with good sailors aft!
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