Section 15

off the head sheets. That will do the braces. Coil the ropes up,” grunted Mr. Baker, bustling about.
Gradually the tramping noises, the confused sound of voices, died out, and the officers, coming together on the poop, discussed the events. Mr. Baker was bewildered and grunted; Mr. Creighton was calmly furious; but Captain Allistoun was composed and thoughtful. He listened to Mr. Baker’s growling argumentation, to Creighton’s interjected and severe remarks, while look¬ ing down on the deck he weighed in his hand the iron belay ing-pin — that a moment ago had just missed his head— as if it had been the only tangible fact of the whole transaction. He was one of those commanders who speak little, seem to hear nothing, look at no one — and know everything, hear every whisper, see every fleeting shadow of their ship’s life. His two big officers towered above his lean, short figure; they talked over his head; they were dismayed, surprised, and angry, while between them the little quiet man seemed to have found his taciturn serenity in the profound depths of a larger experience. Lights were burning in the fore¬ castle; now and then a loud gust of babbling chatter came from forward, swept over the decks, and became
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faint, as if the unconscious ship, gliding gently through the great peace of the sea, had left behind and for ever the foolish noise of turbulent mankind. But it was re¬ newed again and again. Gesticulating arms, profiles of heads with open mouths appeared for a moment in the illuminated squares of doorways; black fists darted withdrew . . . “Yes. It was most damn¬
able to have such an unprovoked row sprung on one,’5 assented the master. ... A tumult of yells rose in the light, abruptly ceased. ... He didn’t think there would be any further trouble just then.
. . . A bell was struck aft, another, forward, an¬
swered in a deeper tone, and the clamour of ringing metal spread round the ship in a circle of wide vibra¬ tions that ebbed away into the immeasurable night of an empty sea. . . . Didn’t he know them! Didn’t he! In past years. Better men, too. Real men to stand by one in a tight place. Worse than devils too sometimes — downright, horned devils. Pah! This— nothing.- A miss as good as a mile. . . . The
wheel was being relieved in the usual way. — “Full and by,” said, very loud, the man going off. — “Full and by,” rePeated the other, catching hold of the spokes.
This head wind is my trouble,” exclaimed the master, stamping his foot in sudden anger; “head wind! all the rest is nothing.” He was calm again in a moment. “Keep them on the move to-night, gentle- men; just to let them feel we’ve got hold all the time — quietly, you know. Mind you keep your hands off them, Creighton. To-morrow I will talk to them like a Dutch Uncle. A crazy crowd of tinkers ! Yes, tinkers!
I could count the real sailors amongst them on the
fingers of one hand. Nothing will do but a row — if _
you— please.” He paused. “Did you think I had gone wrong there, Mr. Baker?” He tapped his fore-
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head, laughed short. “When I saw him standing there, three parts dead and so scared — black amongst that gaping lot — no grit to face what’s coming to us all — the notion came to me all at once, before I could think. Sorry for him — like you would be for a sick brute. If ever creature was in a mortal funk to die! ... I thought I wTould let him go out in his own way. Kind of impulse. It never came into my head, those fools. . . . H’m! Stand to it now — of course.” He
stuck the belaying-pin in his pocket, seemed ashamed of himself, then sharply: — “If you see Podmore at his tricks again tell him I will have him put under the pump. Had to do it once before. The fellow breaks out like that now and then. Good cook tho’.” He walked away quickly, came back to the companion. The two mates followed him through the starlight with amazed eyes. He went down three steps, and changing his tone, spoke with his head near the deck: — “I shan’t turn in to-night, in case of anything; just call out if Did you see the eyes of that sick
nigger, Mr. Baker? I fancied he begged me for some¬ thing. What? Past all help. One lone black beggar amongst the lot of us, and he seemed to look through me into the very hell. Fancy, this wretched Podmore! Well, let him die in peace. I am master here after all. Let him be. He might have been half a man once . . . Keep a good look-out.” He disappeared down below, leaving his mates facing one another, and more impressed than if they had seen a stone image shed a miraculous tear of compassion over the incertitudes of life and death. . . .
In the blue mist spreading from twisted threads that stood upright in the bowls of pipes, the forecastle appeared as vast as a hall. Between the beams a heavy cloud stagnated; and the lamps surrounded by halos
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burned each at the core of a purple glow in two life¬ less flames without rays. Wreaths drifted in denser wisps. Men sprawled about on the deck, sat in negli¬ gent poses, or, bending a knee, drooped with one shoulder against a bulkhead. Lips moved, eyes flashed, waving arms made sudden eddies in the smoke. The murmur of voices seemed to pile itself higher and higher as if unable to run out quick enough through the narrow doors. The watch below in their shirts, and striding on long white legs, resembled raving somnam¬ bulists; while now and then one of the watch on deck would rush in, looking strangely over-dressed, listen a moment, fling a rapid sentence into the noise and run out again; but a few remained near the door, fascinated, and with one ear turned to the deck. “Stick together, boys,” roared Davis. Belfast tried to make himself heard. Knowles grinned in a slow, dazed way. A short fellow with a thick clipped beard kept on yelling periodically: — “Who’s afeard? Who’s afeard?” An¬ other one jumped up, excited, with blazing eyes, sent out a string of unattached curses and sat down quietly. Two men discussed familiarly, striking one another’s breast in turn, to clinch arguments. Three others, with their heads in a bunch, spoke all together with a confidential air, and at the top of their voices. It was a stormy chaos of speech where intelligible fragments tossing, struck the ear. One could hear: — “In the last
ship” — “ Who cares? Try it on any one of us if - .”
“Knock under” — “Not a hand’s turn” — “He says he is all right” — “I always thought” — “Never mind.
. . .” Donkin, crouching all in a heap against the
bowsprit, hunched his shoulderblades as high as his ears, and hanging a peaked nose, resembled a sick vulture with ruffled plumes. Belfast, straddling his legs, had a face red with yelling, and with arms thrown up, figured
THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS” 129
a Maltese cross. The two Scandinavians, in a corner, had the dumbfounded and distracted aspect of men gazing at a cataclysm. And, beyond the light, Single- ton stood in the smoke, monumental, indistinct, with his head touching the beam; like a statue of heroic size in the gloom of a crypt.
He stepped forward, impassive and big. The noise subsided like a broken wave: but Belfast cried once more with uplifted arms: — “The man is dying I tell ye!” then sat down suddenly on the hatch and took his head between his hands. All looked at Singleton, gazing upwards from the deck, staring out of dark corners, or turning their heads with curious glances. They were expectant and appeased as if that old man, who looked at no one, had possessed the secret of their uneasy indignations and desires, a sharper vision, a clearer knowledge. And indeed standing there amongst them, lie had the uninterested appearance of one who had seen multitudes of ships, had listened many times to voices such as theirs, had already seen all that could happen on the wide seas. They heard his voice rumble in his broad chest as though the words had been rolling towards them out'of a rugged past. “What do you want to do?” he asked. No one answered. Only Knowles muttered — “Aye, aye,” and somebody said low : — “ It’s a bloomin ’ shame.” He waited, made a contemptuous gesture. — “I have seen rows aboard ship before some of you were born,” he said, slowly, “for something or nothing; but never for such a thing.” — “The man is dying, I tell ye,” repeated Belfast, woe¬ fully, sitting at Singleton’s feet. — “And a black fellow, too,” went on the old seaman, “I have seen them die like flies.” He stopped, thoughtful, as if trying to recollect gruesome things, details of horrors, hecatombs of niggers. They looked at him fascinated. He was
130 THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS”
old enough to remember slavers, bloody mutinies, pirates perhaps; who could tell through what violences and terrors he had lived! What would he say? He said: — “You can’t help him; die he must.” He made another pause. His moustache and beard stirred. He chewed words, mumbled behind tangled white hairs; incomprehensible and exciting, like an oracle behind a
veil. . . . — “Stop ashore - sick. - Instead -
bringing all this head wind. Afraid. The sea will have her
own. - Die in sight of land. Always so. They know it
- long passage - more days, more dollars. - You
keep quiet. - What do you want? Can’t help him.”
He seemed to wake up from a dream. “You can’t help yourselves,” he said, austerely, “Skipper’s no fool. He has something in his mind. Look out — I say! I know ’em!” With eyes fixed in front he turned his head from right to left, from left to right, as if inspecting a long row of astute skippers. — “ ’Ee said ’ee would brain me!” cried Donkin in a heartrending tone. Singleton peered downwards with puzzled attention, as though he couldn’t find him. — “Damn you!” he said, vaguely, giving it up. He radiated unspeakable wis¬ dom, hard unconcern, the chilling air of resignation. Round him all the listeners felt themselves somehow completely enlightened by their disappointment, and mute, they lolled about with the careless ease of men who can discern perfectly the irremediable aspect of their existence. He, profound and unconscious, weaved his arm once, and strode out on deck without another word.
Belfast was lost in a round-eyed meditation. One or two vaulted heavily into upper berths, and, once there, sighed; others dived head first inside lower bunks — swift, and turning round instantly upon themselves, like animals going into lairs. The grating of a knife
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scraping burnt clay was heard. Knowles grinned no more. Davis said, in a tone of ardent conviction: “Then our skipper’s looney.” Archie muttered: “My faith! we haven’t heard the last of it yet!” Four bells were struck. — “Half our watch below gone!” cried Knowles in alarm, then reflected. “Well, two hours’ sleep is something towards a rest,” he observed, consolingly. Some already pretended to slumber; and Charley, sound asleep, suddenly said a few slurred words in an arbitrary, blank voice. — “This blamed boy has worrums!” commented Knowles from under a blanket, in a learned manner. Belfast got up and approached Archie’s berth. — “We pulled him out,” he whispered, sadly. — “What?” said the other, with sleepy discontent. — “And now we will have to chuck him overboard,” went on Belfast, whose lower lip trembled. — “Chuck what?” asked Archie. — “Poor Jimmy,” breathed out Belfast. — “He be blowed!” said Archie with untruthful brutality, and sat up in his bunk; “It’s all through him. If it hadn’t been for me, there would have been murder on board this ship!” — “ ’Tain’t his, fault, is it?” argued Belfast, in a murmur; “I’ve put him to bed . . . an’ he
ain’t no heavier than an empty beef -cask,” he added, with tears in his eyes. Archie looked at him steadily, then turned his nose to the ship’s side with determina¬ tion. Belfast wandered about as though he had lost his way in the dim forecastle, and nearly fell over Donkin. He contemplated him from on high for a while. “Ain’t ye going to turn in?” he asked. Don¬ kin looked up hopelessly— “That black ’earted Scotch son of a thief kicked me!” he whispered from the floor, in a tone of utter desolation. — “And a good job, too!” said Belfast, still very depressed; “You were as near hanging as damn-it to-night, sonny. Don t you play
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any of your murthering games around my Jimmy! You haven’t pulled him out. You just mind! ’Cos if I start to kick you” — he brightened up a bit — “if I start to kick you, it will be Yankee fashion — to break something!” He tapped lightly with his knuckles the top of the bowed head. “You moind that, my bhoy ! ” he concluded, cheerily. Donkin let it pass. — “Will they split on me?” he asked, with pained anxiety. — “Who — split?” hissed Belfast, coming back a step. “I would split your nose this minyt if I hadn’t Jimmy to look after! Who d’ye think we are?” Donkin rose and watched Belfast’s back lurch through the door¬ way. On all sides invisible men slept, breathing calmly. He seemed to draw courage and fury from the peace around him. Venomous and thin-faced, he glared from the ample misfit of borrowed clothes as if looking for something he could smash. His heart leaped wildly in his narrow chest. They slept! He wanted to wring necks, gouge eyes, spit on faces. He shook' a dirty pair of meagre fists at the smoking lights. “Ye’re no men!” he cried, in a deadened tone. No one moved. “Yer ’aven’t the pluck of a mouse!” His voice rose to a husky screech. Wamibo darted out a dishevelled head, and looked at him wdldly. “Ye’re sweepings ov ships! I ’ope you will all rot before you die!” Wamibo blinked, uncomprehending but interested. Donkin sat dowm heavily; he blew with force through quivering nostrils, he ground and snap¬ ped his teeth, and, with the chin pressed hard against the breast, he seemed busy gnawing his way through it, as if to get at the heart within. . . .
In the morning the ship, beginning another day of her wandering life, had an aspect of sumptuous fresh¬ ness, like the spring-time of the earth. The washed
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decks glistened in a long clear stretch; the oblique sun¬ light struck the yellow brasses in dazzling splashes, darted over the polished rods in lines of gold, and the single drops of salt water forgotten here and there along the rail were as limpid as drops of dew, and sparkled more than scattered diamonds. The sails slept, hushed by a gentle breeze. The sun, rising lonely and splendid in the blue sky, saw a solitary ship gliding close-hauled on the blue sea.
The men pressed three deep abreast of the mainmast and opposite the cabin-door. They shuffled, pushed, had an irresolute mien and stolid faces. At every slight movement Knowles lurched heavily on his short leg. Donkin glided behind backs, restless and anxious, like a man looking for an ambush. Captain Allistoun came out on the quarter-deck suddenly. He walked to and fro before the front. He was grey, slight, alert, shabby in the sunshine, and as hard as adamant. He had his right hand in the side-pocket of his jacket, and also something heavy in there that made folds all down that side. One of the seamen cleared his throat ominously. — “I haven’t till now found fault with you men,” said the master, stopping short. He faced them with his worn, steely gaze, that by a universal illu¬ sion looked straight into every individual pair of the twenty pairs of eyes before his face. At his back Mr. Baker, gloomy and bull-necked, grunted low; Mr. Creighton, fresh as paint, had rosy cheeks and a ready, resolute bearing. “And I don’t now,” continued the master; “but I am here to drive this ship and keep every man- jack aboard of her up to the mark. If you knew your work as well as I do mine, there would be no trouble. You’ve been braying in the dark about ‘See to-morrow morning!’ Well, you see me now. What do you want?” He waited, stepping quickly to and
134 THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS”
fro, giving them searching glances. What did they want? They shifted from foot to foot, they balanced their bodies; some, pushing back their caps, scratched their heads. What did they want? Jimmy was forgotten; no one thought of him, alone forward in his cabin, fighting great shadows, clinging to brazen lies, chuckling painfully over his transparent deceptions. No, not Jimmy; he was more forgotten than if he had been dead. They wanted great things. And suddenly all the simple words they knew seemed to be lost for ever in the immensity of their vague and burning desire. They knew what they wanted, but they could not find anything worth saying. They stirred on one spot, swinging, at the end of muscular arms, big tarry hands with crooked fingers. A murmur died out. — “What is it — food?” asked the master, “you know the stores have been spoiled off the Cape.” — “We know that, sir,” said a bearded shell-back in the front rank. — Work too hard — eh? Too much for your strength?” he asked again. There was an offended silence. — “We don’t want to go shorthanded, sir,” began at last Davis in a wavering voice, “and this ’ere black—