Section 16

. . .’’—“Enough!” cried the master. He stood
scanning them for a moment, then walking a few steps this way and that began to storm at them coldly, in gusts violent and cutting like the gales of those icy seas that had known his youth.— “Tell you what’s the mat¬ ter? Too big for your boots. Think yourselves damn good men. Know half your work. Do half your duty. Think it too much. If you did ten times as much it wouldn’t be enough.”— “We did our best by her, sir,” cried some one with shaky exasperation.— “Your best” stormed on the master; “You hear a lot on shore, don’t you? 1 hey don’t tell you there your best isn’t much to boast of. I tell you— your best is no better than bad.
THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS” 135
You can do no more? No, I know, and say nothing. But you stop your caper or I will stop it for you. I am ready for you! Stop it!” He shook a finger at the crowd. “As to that man,” he raised his voice very much; “as to that man, if he puts his nose out on deck without my leave I will clap him in irons. There!” The cook heard him forward, ran out of the galley lifting his arms, horrified, unbelieving, amazed, and ran in again. There was a moment of profound silence during which a bow-legged seaman, stepping aside, expectorated decorously into the scupper. “There is another thing,” said the master, calmly. He made a quick stride and with a swing took an iron belaying- pin out of his pocket. “ This ! ” His movement was so unexpected and sudden that the crowd stepped back. He gazed fixedly at their faces, and some at once put on a surprised air as though they had never seen a belay- ing-pin before. He held it up. “This is my affair. I don’t ask you any questions, but you all know it; it has got to go where it came from.” His eyes became angry. The crowd stirred uneasily. They looked awTay from the piece of iron, they appeared shy, they were embarrassed and shocked as though it had been something horrid, scandalous, or indelicate, that in common decency should not have been flourished like this in broad daylight. The master watched them attentively. “Donkin,” he called out in a short, sharp tone.
Donkin dodged behind one, then behind another, but they looked over their shoulders and moved aside. The ranks kept on opening before him, closing behind, till at last he appeared alone before the master as though he had come up through the deck. Captain Allistoun moved close to him. They were much of a size, and at short range the master exchanged a deadly glance with
136 THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS”
the beady eyes. They wavered. — “You know this?” asked the master. — “No, I don’t,” answered the other, with cheeky trepidation. — “You are a cur. Take it,” ordered the master. Donkin’s arms seemed glued to his thighs ; he stood, eyes front, as if drawn on parade. “Take it,” repeated the master, and stepped closer; they breathed on one another. “Take it,” said Cap¬ tain Allistoun again, making a menacing gesture. Donkin tore away one arm from his side. — “Vy are yer down on me? ” he mumbled with effort and as if his mouth had been full of dough. — “ If you don’t . . . ”
began the master. Donkin snatched at the pin as though his intention had been to run away with it, and remained stock still holding it like a candle. “Put it back where you took it from,” said Captain Allistoun, looking at him fiercely. Donkin stepped back opening wide eyes. “Go, you blackguard, or I will make you,” cried the master, driving him slowly backwards by a menacing advance. He dodged, and with the danger¬ ous iron tried to guard his head from a threatening fist. Mr. Baker ceased grunting for a moment. — “Good! By Jove,” murmured appreciatively Mr. Creighton in the tone of a connoisseur. — “Don’t tech me,” snarled Donkin, backing away. — “Then go. Go faster.” — “Don’t yer ’it me. . . . I will pull yer up afore the
magistryt. . . . I’ll show yer up.” Captain Al¬
listoun made a long stride, and Donkin, turning his back fairly, ran off a little, then stopped and over his shoulder showed yellow teeth. — “Further on, fore-rigging,” urged the master, pointing with his arm. — “Are yer goin’ to stand by and see me bullied?” screamed Don¬ kin at the silent crowd that watched him. Captain Allistoun walked at him smartly. He started off again with a leap, dashed at the fore-rigging, rammed the pin into its hole violently. “I’ll be even with yer
THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS” 137
yet,” he screamed at the ship at large and vanished beyond the foremast. Captain Allistoun spun round and walked back aft with a composed face, as though he had already forgotten the scene. Men moved out of his way. He looked at no one. — “ That will do, Mr. Baker. Send the watch below,” he said, quietly. “And you men try to walk straight for the future,” he added in a calm voice. He looked pensively for a while at the backs of the impressed and retreating crowd. “Breakfast, steward,” he called in a tone of relief through the cabin door. — “I didn’t like to see you — • Ough! — give that pin to that chap, sir,” observed Mr. Baker; “he could have bust — Ough! — bust your head like an eggshell with it. — “O! he!” muttered the master, absently. “Queer lot,” he went on in a low voice. “I suppose it’s all right now. Can never tell tho’, nowadays, with such a . . . Years ago; I was a
young master then — one China voyage I had a mutiny; real mutiny, Baker. Different men tho’. I knew what they wanted: they wanted to broach the cargo and get at the liquor. Very simple. . . . We
knocked them about for'two days, and when they had enough — gentle as lambs. Good crew. And a smart trip I made.” He glanced aloft at the yards braced sharp up. “Head wind day after day,” he exclaimed, bitterly. “Shall we never get a decent slant this pas¬ sage?” — “Ready, sir,” said the steward, appearing before them as if by magic and with a stained napkin in his hand. — “Ah! All right. Come along, Mr. Baker — it’s late — with all this nonsense.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A heavy atmosphere of oppressive quietude per¬ vaded the ship. In the afternoon men went about washing clothes and hanging them out to dry in the unprosperous breeze with the meditative languor of dis¬ enchanted philosophers. Very little was said. The problem of life seemed too voluminous for the narrow limits of human speech, and by common consent it was abandoned to the great sea that had from the begin¬ ning enfolded it in its immense grip; to the sea that knew all, and would in time infallibly unveil to each the wis¬ dom hidden in all the errors, the certitude that lurks in doubts, the realm of safety and peace beyond the frontiers of sorrow and fear. And in the confused current of impotent thoughts that set unceasingly this way and that through bodies of men, Jimmy bobbed up upon the surface, compelling attention, like a black buoy chained to the bottom of a muddy stream. Falsehood triumphed. It triumphed through doubt, through stupidity, through pity, through sentimental¬ ism. We set ourselves to bolster it up, from compas¬ sion, from recklessness, from a sense of fun. Jimmy’s steadfastness to his untruthful attitude in the face of the inevitable truth had the proportions of a colossal enigma — of a manifestation grand and incomprehensible that at times inspired a wondering awe; and there was also, to many, something exquisitely droll in fooling him thus to the top of his bent. The latent egoism of tenderness to suffering appeared in the developing anxiety not to see him die. His obstinate non-recogni-
138
THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS” 139
tion of the only certitude whose approach we could watch from day to day was as disquieting as the failure of some law of nature. He was so utterly wrong about himself that one could not but suspect him of having access to some source of supernatural knowledge. He was absurd to the point of inspiration. He was unique, and as fascinating as only something inhuman could be; he seemed to shout his denials already from beyond the awful border. He was becoming immate¬ rial like an apparition; his cheekbones rose, the forehead slanted more; the face was all hollows, patches of shade; and the fleshless head resembled a disinterred black skull, fitted with two restless globes of silver in the sockets of eyes. He was demoralising. Through him we were becoming highly humanised, tender, complex, excessively decadent: we understood the subtlety of his fear, sympathised with all his repulsions, shrinkings, evasions, delusions — as though we had been over¬ civilised, and rotten, and without any knowledge of the meaning of life. We had the air of being initiated in some infamous mysteries; we had the profound grimaces of conspirators, exchanged meaning glances, significant short words. We were inexpressibly vile and very much pleased with ourselves. We lied to him with gravity, with emotion, with unction, as if performing some moral trick with a view to an eternal reward. We made a chorus of affirmation to his wildest asser¬ tions, as though he had been a millionaire, a politician, or a reformer— and we a crowd of ambitious lubbers. When we ventured to question his statements we did it after the manner of obsequious sycophants, to the end that his glory should be augmented by the flattery of our dissent. He influenced the moral tone of our world as though he had it in his power to distribute honours, treasures, or pain; and he could give us nothing but his
140 THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS”
contempt. It was immense; it seemed to grow grad¬ ually larger, as his body day by day shrank a little more, while we looked. It was the only thing about him — of him — that gave the impression of durability and vigour. It lived within him with an unquenchable life. It spoke through the eternal pout of his black lips; it looked at us through the impertinent mournfulness of his languid and enormous stare. We watched him in¬ tently. He seemed unwilling to move, as if distrustful of his own solidity. The slightest gesture must have disclosed to him (it could not surely be otherwise) his bodily weakness, and caused a pang of mental suffering. He was chary of movements. He lay stretched out, chin on blanket, in a kind of sly, cautious immobility. Only his eyes roamed over faces: his eyes disdainful, penetrating and sad.
It was at that time that Belfast’s devotion — and also his pugnacity — secured universal respect. He spent every moment of his spare time in Jimmy’s cabin. He tended him, talked to him; was as gentle as a woman, as tenderly gay as an old philanthropist, as sentimentally careful of his nigger as a model slave-owner. But out¬ side he was irritable, explosive as gunpowder, sombre, suspicious, and never more brutal than when most sorrowful. With him it was a tear and a blow: a tear for Jimmy, a blow for any one who did not seem to take a scrupulously orthodox view of Jimmy’s case. We talked about nothing else. The two Scandinavians, even, discussed the situation — but it was impossible to know in what spirit, because they quarrelled in their own language. Belfast suspected one of them of ir¬ reverence, and in this incertitude thought that there was no option, but to fight them both. They became very much terrified by his truculence, and henceforth lived amongst us, dejected, like a pair of mutes. Wamibo
THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS” 141
never spoke intelligibly, but he was as smileless as an animal — seemed to know much less about it all than the cat — and consequently was safe. Moreover, he had belonged to the chosen band of Jimmy’s rescuers, and was above suspicion. Archie was silent generally, but often spent an hour or so talking to Jimmy quietly with an air of proprietorship. At any time of the day and often through the night some man could be seen sitting on Jimmy’s box. In the evening, between six and eight, the cabin was crowded, and there was an interested group at the door. Every one stared at the nigger.
He basked in the warmth of our interest. His eyes gleamed ironically, and in a weak voice he reproached us with our cowardice. He would say, “If you fellows had stuck out for me I would be now on deck.” We hung our heads. “Yes, but if you think I am going to let them put me in irons just to show you sport.
. Well, no. ... It ruins my health, this lying-up, it does. You don’t care.” We were as abashed as if it had been true. His superb impudence carried all before it. We would not have dared to re¬ volt. We didn’t want to, really. We wanted to keep him alive till home — to the end of the voyage.
Singleton as usual held aloof, appearing to scorn the insignificant events of an ended life. Once only he came along, and unexpectedly stopped in the doorway. He peered at Jimmy in profound silence, as if desirous to add that black image to the crowd of Shades that peopled his old memory. We kept very quiet, and for a long time Singleton stood there as though he had come by appointment to call for some one, or to see some important event. James Wait lay perfectly still, and apparently not aware of the gaze scrutinising him with a steadiness full of expectation. There was a sense of,
142 THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS”
a contest in the air. We felt the inward strain of men watching a wrestling bout. At last Jimmy with per¬ ceptible apprehension turned his head on the pillow. — “Good evening,” he said in a conciliating tone. — “H’m,” answered the old seaman, grumpily. For a moment longer he looked at Jimmy with severe fixity, then suddenly went away. It was a long time before any one spoke in the little cabin, though we all breathed more freely as men do after an escape from some dangerous situation. We all knew the old man’s ideas about Jimmy, and nobody dared to combat them. They were unsettling, they caused pain; and, what was worse, they might have been true for all we knew. Only once did he condescend to explain them fully, but the impression was lasting. He said that Jimmy was the cause of head winds. Mortally sick men — he maintained — linger till the first sight of land, and then die; and Jimmy knew that the very first land would draw his life from him. It is so in every ship. Didn’t we know it? He asked us with austere contempt: what did we know? What would we doubt next? Jimmy’s desire encouraged by us and aided by Wa- mibo’s (he was a Finn — wasn’t he? Very well!) by Wamibo’s spells delayed the ship in the open sea. Only lubberly fools couldn’t see it. Whoever heard of such a run of calms and head winds? It wasn’t natural.
. We could not deny that it was strange. We felt uneasy. The common saying, “More days, more dollars,” did not give the usual comfort because the stores were running short. Much had been spoiled off the Cape, and we were on half allowance of biscuit. Peas, sugar and tea had been finished long ago. Salt meat was giving out. We had plenty of coffee but very little water to make it with. We took up another hole in our belts and went on scraping, polishing, painting
THE NIGGER OF THE “NARCISSUS” 143
the ship from morning to night. And soon she looked as though she had come out of a band-box; but hunger lived on board of her. Not dead starvation, but steady, living hunger that stalked about the decks, slept in the forecastle; the tormentor of waking moments, the dis¬ turber of dreams. We looked to windward for signs of change. Every few hours of night and day we put her round with the hope that she would come up on that tack at last! She didn’t. She seemed to have for¬ gotten the way home; she rushed to and fro, heading northwest, heading east; she ran backwards and for¬ wards, distracted, like a timid creature at the foot of a wall. Sometimes, as if tired to death, she would wallow languidly for a day in the smooth swell of an unruffled sea. All up the swinging masts the sails thrashed furiously through the hot stillness of the calm. We wTere weary, hungry, thirsty; we commenced to believe Singleton, but with unshaken fidelity dissembled to Jimmy. We spoke to him with jocose allusiveness, like cheerful accomplices in a clever plot; but we looked to the westward over the rail with longing eyes for a sign of hope, for a sign of fair wind; even if its first breath should bring death to our reluctant Jimmy. In vain! The universe conspired with James Wait. Light airs from the northward sprang up again; the sky remained clear; and round our weariness the glittering sea, touched by the breeze, basked voluptuously in the great sunshine, as though it had forgotten our life and trouble.