The decks of the big, low-lying tramp steamer were piled high with gear of every description. A trio of stout tow-boats were blocked up amidships, long piles of lumber rose higher than a man's head, and the roofs of the deck-houses were jammed with fishing-boats nested, one inside the other, like pots in a kitchen. Every available inch was crowded with cases of gasoline, of groceries, and of the varied provisions required on an expedition of this magnitude. Aft, on rows of hooks, were suspended the carcasses of sheep and bullocks and hogs; there seemed to be nowhere another foot of available room. The red water-line of the ship was already submerged, yet notwithstanding this fact her derricks clanged noisily, her booms swung back and forth, and her gaping hatches swallowed momentary loads. Those fishermen who had come aboard early had settled like flies in the rigging, whence they taunted their enemies, hurling back insult for insult. It was much like the departure of a gold steamer during the early famine stages of the northward stampede, save that now there were no women, while the confusion was immeasurably greater, and through it all might be felt a certain strained and angry menace. All the long afternoon _The Bedford Castle_ lay at her moorings subjected to the customary eleventh-hour delays. As the time dragged on, and the liquor died in the fishermen, it became a herculean task to prevent them from issuing forth into the street, while the crowds outside seemed possessed of a desperate determination to force an entrance and bring the issue to a final settlement. But across the shore end of the dock a double cordon was drawn which hurled back the intruders at every advance. The fishermen who remained inside the barnlike structure, unable to come at their enemies, fought among themselves, bidding fair to wreck the building in the extravagance of their delirium, while outside the rival faction kept up a fire of missiles and execrations. As the hours crept onward the tension increased, and at last Boyd turned to Captain Peasley saying, "You'd better be ready to pull out at any minute, for if the mob breaks in we'll never be able to hold these maniacs." He pointed to the black swarm aloft, whence issued hoarse waves of sound. "I don't like the look of things, a little bit." "They are a trifle strained, to be sure," the Captain acknowledged. "I'll stand by to cast off at your signal, so you'd better pass the word around."