CHAPTER IX
THE YELLOW FLAG
THE Olga was nearing Alexandria, and emigrants from Russia, Greece, Roumania, were piling their plunder on the deck. Few of them smiled. Turkish children went stolidly about their work. Zack sniffed at their dirty bedding and evil-odored bundles that were being brought up from the hold. "Huh! dem things don't smell like no jewraniums; nigger as I is, dey makes me sick."
A sudden desire possessed Zack to be near the Colonel—where he could touch him with his hand when the crisis came. He started for the promenade deck, but Guinea cut him off at the steps with a caution, "Keep your mouth shet."
Zack nodded, "I ain't heered nuthin'."
With a heavy heart Old Reliable began climbing the steps to the first deck—"where de Cunnel was at."
It was an almost windless day—blue, immeasurable, unflecked on sea or sky. The Colonel's finger pointed straight ahead: "Look, Zack, there is the land of Egypt."
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