the streets of Kingston. To my asseverations Macdonald returned
nothing but a series of minute "humphs." I don't know what overcame his
scruples; he had shown no signs of yielding, but suddenly turning on his
heel made a motion with one of his flabby white hands. I understood it
to mean that I was to follow him aft.

The decks were covered with a jabbering turmoil of negroes with muscular
arms and brawny shoulders. All their shining black faces seem to be
momentarily gashed open to show rows of white teeth, and were spotted
with inlaid eyeballs. The sounds coming from them were a bewildering
noise. They were hauling baggage about aimlessly. A large soft bundle
of bedding nearly took me off my legs. There wasn't room for emotion.
Macdonald laid about him with the handle of the umbrella a few inches
from the deck; but the passage that he made for himself closed behind
him.

Suddenly, in the pushing and hurrying, I came upon a little clear space
beside a pile of boxes. Stooping over them was the angular figure of
Nichols, the second mate. He looked up at me, screwing his yellow eyes
together.

"Going ashore," he asked, "'long of that Puffing Billy?"

"What business is it of yours'" I mumbled sulkily.

Sudden and intense threatening came into his yellow eyes:

"Don't you ever come to you know where," he said; "I don't want no spies
on what I do. There's a man there'll crack your little backbone if he
catches you. Don't yeh come now. Never."