the ship.

Finnegan, the leader, who had held up his hand for silence,
uttered an oath.

"Scabs! Men, come on!"

There was no need for a further invitation. The men rose in
sullen wrath and went down the levee, the crowd gathering in
numbers as it passed along. Mr. Baptiste followed in its wake,
now and then sighing a mournful protest which was lost in the
roar of the men.

"Scabs!" Finnegan had said; and the word was passed along, until
it seemed that the half of the second District knew and had risen
to investigate.

"Oh--ho--ho--humph--humph--humph--oh--ho--ho--oh--o--o--humph!"

The rhythmic chorus sounded nearer, and the cause manifested
itself when the curve of the levee above the French Market was
passed. There rose a White Star steamer, insolently settling
itself to the water as each consignment of cotton bales was
compressed into her hold.

"Niggers!" roared Finnegan wrathily.

"Niggers! niggers! Kill 'em, scabs!" chorused the crowd.

With muscles standing out like cables through their blue cotton