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"If the Old Man is after him, he's bound to get him, and making a quick finish himself would save a lot o' bother all around." "What's it about, anyway?" says Chips. "How do I know?" answered Sails. "I don't go poking my nose into Yankee Swope's business, you can bet your bottom dollar I don't. I take my orders, and let it go at that. Same as you. Same as the others.
No; it was something beyond, something greater, than the flesh that commanded our homage. Once since have I seen a face that was like the face of Captain Swope's wife in a great church in a Latin country.
It was much like the impression of utter recklessness that Newman gave, only in Yankee Swope's case it was not recklessness, but utter wickedness. An aura of evil seemed to cling about him, he walked about in an atmosphere of black iniquity that was horrifying. Any foremast hand would look after Yankee Swope and say, "There he's sold his soul to the Devil!
He said, that sailmaker did, as how Swope got drunk, and beat her." The big Cockney, who had been visibly possessed by a pompous self-importance since his elevation to the dignity of runner, saw fit to interpose his contrary opinion of the Lady of the Golden Bough. Because the man was vile, his words were vile. "Blimme, yer needn't worrit abaht Yankee Swope's lydy, as yer call 'er.
'Tis the men in them." I was surprised not to see Captain Swope upon the poop. According to the gossip I had heard at the Knitting Swede's, this eight to twelve watch was Yankee Swope's favorite prowling time. But he did not appear; indeed, he had not shown himself since he had so ignominiously surrendered the deck to Newman. I was not disappointed.
It was no heavier I think though of much different complexion than the list Captain Swope had planned. As for wounded God's truth, the Golden Bough was manned by a crew of cripples for weeks after. Lynch had wrought terribly, there on the main deck broken pates, broken fingers, a cracked wrist, a broken foot, and three men wounded, though not seriously, by Swope's and Connolly's shots.
Once more his eyes were burning, his breath came hard, and his voice became high and sustained. "Well, I give one of 'em all he wanted," he said, "and more. I took his dam' pistol away and beat him over the head with it and I moved him, too. He was Jasper Swope's pet, and I reckon he had his orders, but I noticed the rest went round."
It was Nigger, despised, half-lunatic Nigger, who was not in my reckoning, nor in Swope's, who put the match to the tinder and upset such carefully laid plans. As I feared, the revolt of the crew blazed up immediately. My shipmates were eager, too eager.
The roof of the barn caves in and reveals what we had not before suspected, that Platt's barn, on the other side of the alley, is afire too. Say! This is getting interesting. The wind is setting directly toward Swope's house. It has been so terribly dry this last month or so that the house will go like powder if it ever catches. Why, I think Swope has a well and cistern both.
In one hand he held the sheepman's pistol and in the other his own. "Here!" he said, and striding forward he thrust Swope's gun into his hand. "It's loaded, too," he added. "Now, you if you've got any shootin' to do, go to it!" He stepped back quickly and stood ready, his masterful eyes bent upon his enemy in a scowl of unquenchable hate.
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