 4. On men reprieved by its disdainful mercy, the immortal sea confers in its justice the full privilege of desired unrest. Through the perfect wisdom of its grace they are not permitted to meditate at ease upon the complicated and accurate saver of existence. They must without pause justify their life to the eternal pity that commands toil to be hard and unceasing from sunrise to sunset, from sunset to sunrise, till the weary succession of nights and days tainted by the obstinate clamor of sages demanding bliss in an empty heaven is redeemed at last by the vast silence of pain and labor, by the dumb fear and the dumb courage of men obscure, forgetful, and enduring. The master and Mr. Baker, coming face to face, stirred for a moment with the intense and amazed looks of men meeting unexpectedly after years of trouble. Their voices were gone and they whispered desperately at one another. �Anyone missing?� asked Captain Olliston. �No, all there. �Anyone hurt?� owned me the second mate. �I will look after him directly. We're lucky. Very articulated, Mr. Baker, faintly. He gripped the rail and rolled bloodshot eyes. The little grey man made an effort to raise his voice above a dull mutter, and fixed his chief mate with a cold gaze, piercing like a dart. �Get sail on the ship,� he said, speaking authoritatively and with an inflexible snap of his thin lips. �Get sail on her as soon as you can. This is a fair wind. At once, sir, don't give them any time to feel themselves. They will get done up and stiff, and we will never. We must get her along now. He reeled to a long, heavy roll. The rail dipped into the glancing, hissing water. He got his shroud swung helplessly against the mate. Now we have a fair wind at last. Make sail. His head rolled from shoulder to shoulder. His eyelids began to beat rapidly. And the pumps. �Pumps, Mr. Baker!� he peered as though the face within a foot of his eyes had been a half-mile off. �Keep them in on the move, too.� To get her along, he mumbled in a drowsy tone, like a man going off into a doze. He pulled himself together suddenly. �Mustn't stand. Won't do�� he said with a painful attempt at a smile. He let go his hold, and propelled by the dip of the ship, ran aft unwillingly with small steps, till he brought up against the binnacle stand. Hanging on there he looked up in an aimless manner at Singleton, who, unheeding him, watched anxiously the end of the jib-boom. �Steeringer works all right,� he asked. There was a noise in the old seamen's throat, as though the words had been rattling together before they could come out. �Steers, like a little boat� he said at last, with horse tenderness, without giving the master as much as half a glance. Then watchfully, spun the wheel down, steadied, flung it back again. Captain Helliston tore himself away from the delight of leaning against the binnacle, and began to walk the poop, swaying and reeling to preserve his balance. The pumper-odds, clanking, stamped in short jumps while the fly-wheels turned smoothly, with great speed, at the foot of the main mast, flinging back and forth with a regular impetuosity, two limp clusters of men clinging to the handles. They abandoned themselves, swaying from the hip with twitching faces and stony eyes. The carpenter, sounding from time to time, exclaimed mechanically, �Shaker up! Keep her going!� Mr. Baker could not speak, but found his voice to shout, and under the goat of his objugations, men looked to the lashings, dragged out new sails, and, thinking themselves unable to move, carried heavy blocks so oft, overhauled the gear. They went up the rigging with faltering and desperate efforts. Their heads swam, as they shifted their hold, stepped blindly on the yards like men in the dark, or trusted themselves to the first rope at hand with the negligence of exhausted strength. The narrow escapes from falls did not disturb the languid beat of their hearts. The roar of the seas, seething far below, sounded continuous and faint, like an indistinct noise from another world. The wind filled their eyes with tears, and with heavy gusts tried to push them off from where they swayed in insecure positions. With streaming faces and blowing hair, they flew up and down between sky and water, bestriding the ends of yard arms, crouching on foot ropes, embracing lifts to have their hands free, or standing up against chain ties. Their thoughts floated vaguely between the desire of rest and the desire of life, while their stiffened fingers cast off headair rings, fumbled for knives, or held with tenacious grip against the violent shocks of reading canvas. They glared savagely at one another, made frantic signs with one hand while they held their life in the other, looked down on a narrow strip of flooded deck, shouted along to Leeward, Light, too! Hall out! Make fast! Their lips moved, their eyes started, furious and eager with the desire to be understood, but the wind tossed their words unheard upon the disturbed sea. In an unendurable and unending strain they worked like men driven by a merciless dream to toil in an atmosphere of ice or flame. They burnt and shivered in turns. Their eyeballs smarted as if in the smoke of a conflagration. Their heads were ready to burst with every shot. Hard fingers seemed to grip their throats. At every roll they thought, now I must let go. It will shake us all off, and thrown about aloft they cried wildly. Look out there! Catch the end! Reeve clear! Turn this block! They nodded desperately, shook infuriated faces. No, no! From down up! They seemed to hate one another with a deadly hate. The longing to be done with an old nod their breasts, and the wish to do things well was a burning pain. They cursed their fate, condemned their lives, and wasted their breath in deadly imprecations upon one another. The sail-maker, with his bald head bared, worked feverishly, forgetting his intimacy with so many admirals. The boson climbing up with myelin spikes and bunches of spun-yarn roving, or kneeling on the yard and ready to take a turn with the midship stop, had acute and fleeting visions of his old woman and the youngsters in a moreland village. Mr. Baker, feeling very weak, tottered here and there, grunning and inflexible, like a man of iron. He waylaid those who, coming from aloft, stood gasping for breath. He ordered, encouraged, scolded. Now, then, to the top mainsail now, tally on to that gantt line. Don't stand about there. Is there no rest for us, muttered voices? He spun round furiously with a sinking heart. No, no rest till the work is done. Work till you drop. That's what you're here for. About semen that his elbow gave a short laugh. Do or die, he croaked bitterly, then spat into his broad palms, swung up his long arms, and grasping the rope high above his head, sent out a mournful wailing cry for a pull altogether. A sea-boarded the quarter-deck and sent the whole lot sprawling till leeward. Caps, hand-spikes floated, clenched hands, kicking legs, with here and there his fluttering face, struck out of the white hiss of foaming water. Mr. Baker knocked down with a rest, screamed, Don't let go that rope. Hold on to it. Hold. And sorely bruised by the brutal fling, they held on to it as though it had been the fortune of their life. The ship ran, rolling heavily, and the topping crests glanced past port and starboard flashing their white heads. Pumps were freed. Braces were rove. The three top sails and foresail were set. She spurred it faster over the water, outpacing the swift rush of waves. The menacing thunder of distant seas rose behind her, filled the air with the tremendous vibrations of its voice. And devastated, battered, and wounded, she drove foaming to the northward as though inspired by the courage of a high endeavor. The fork-soul was a place of damp desolation. They looked at their dwelling with dismay. It was slimy, dripping. It hummed hollow with the wind, and was strewn with shapeless wreckage like a half-tight cavern in a rocky and exposed coast. Many had lost all they had in the world, but most of the starboard watch had preserved their chests. Thin streams of water trickled out of them, however. The beds were soaked. The blanket spread out and saved by some nail squashed underfoot. They dragged wet rags from evil-smelling corners, and wringing the water out recognized their property. Some smiled stiffly. Others looked round blank and mute. There were cries of joy over old westkits and groans of sorrow over shapeless things found among the splinters of smashed bed boards. One lamp was discovered jammed under the bowsprit. Charlie whimpered a little. Knolls stumped here in their sniffing, examining dark places for salvage. He poured dirty water out of a boot, and was concerned to find the owner. Those who, overwhelmed by their losses, sat on the four-peak hatch, remained elbows on knees, and with a fist against each cheek, disdain to look up. He pushed it under their noses. Here's a good boot. Yours? They snarled, no. Get out. One snapped at him. Take it to hell out of this. He seemed surprised. Why? It's a good boot. But remembering suddenly that he had lost every stitch of his clothing, he dropped his find and began to swear. In the dim light cursing voices clashed. A man came in, and dropping his arm stood still, repeating from the doorstep. Here's a bloom and old go. Here's a bloom and old go. A few rooted anxiously and flooded chests for tobacco. They breathed hard, clamored with heads down. Look at that jack. Here, Sam, here's my sure-going rigged spoilt forever. One blossom made tearfully, holding out a pair of dripping trousers. No one looked at him. The cat came out from somewhere. He had an ovation. They'd snatched him from hand to hand, caressed him in a murmur of pet names. They wondered where he had weathered it out, disputed about it. A squabbling argument began. Two men brought in a bucket of fresh water and all crowded around it. But Tom, lean and mewing, came up with every hair of stirrer and had the first drink. A couple of hands went aft for oil and biscuits. Then in the yellow light and in the intervals of mopping the deck they crunched hard bread, arranging to worry through somehow. Men chummed as to beds. Turns were settled for wearing boots and having the use of oil-skin coats. They called one another old man and sunny and cheery voices. Friendly slaps resounded. Jokes were shouted. One or two stretched on the wet deck, slept with heads pillowed on their bent arms, and several, sitting on the hatch, smoked. Their worry faces appeared through a thin blue haze, pacified and with sparkling eyes. The bosson put his head through the door. Relieve the wheel, one of you, he shouted inside, at six. Blame if that old singleton hasn't been there more than 30 hours. You are a fine lot. He slammed the door again. Made swatch on deck, said someone. Hey, Duncan, it's your relief, shouted three or four together. He had crawled into an empty bunk and on wet planks lay still. Duncan, your wheel, he made no sound. Duncan's dead, gaffawed someone. Sell his blooming clothes, shouted another. Duncan, if you don't go to the blooming wheel, they will sell your clothes. Do ye hear? Cheered a third. He groaned from his dark hole. He complained about pains and hollows bones. He whimpered pitifully. He won't go, exclaimed a contemptuous voice. Your turn, Davis. The young seaman rose painfully, squaring his shoulders. Duncan stuck his head out, and it appeared in the yellow light, fragile and ghastly. I will give your a pound of tobacco, he whined in the conciliating voice, so soon as I draw it from aft, I will sell me. Davis swung his arm backhanded and the head vanished. I'll go, he said, but you will pay for it. He walked unsteady but resolute to the door. So I will, yelp, Duncan, popping out behind him. So I will sell me a pound three bob they charge. Davis flung the door open. You will pay my price, and find whether he shouted over his shoulder. One of the men unbuttoned his wet coat rapidly, threw it at his head. Here, taffy, take that, you thief. Thank you, he cried, from the darkness above the swash of rolling water. He could be heard splashing. A sea came on board with a thump. He's got his bath already, remarked a grim shell back. I, I, grunted others. Then, after a long silence, Lamebo made strange noises. Hello, what's up with you? said someone grumpily. He says he would have gone for Davey, explained Archie, who was the Finn's interpreter generally. I believe him, cried voices. Never mind, Archie, you'll do muddlehead. Your turn will come soon enough. You don't know when you're well off. They ceased and altogether turned their faces to the door. Singleton stepped in, advanced two paces, and stood swaying slightly. The sea hissed, flowed roaring past the bows, and the folks all trembled full of deep murmurs. The lamp flared swinging like a pendulum. He looked with a dreamy and puzzled stare, as though he could not distinguish the still men from their restless shadows. There were awestruck exclamations. Hello, hello. How does it look outside now, Singleton? Those who sat on the hatch lifted their eyes in silence, and the next sold a seaman in the ship. Those two understood one another, though they hardly exchanged three words in a day. Gazed up at his friend attentively for a moment, then taken a short clay pipe out of his mouth, offered it without a word. Singleton put out his arm toward it, missed, staggered, and suddenly fell forward, crashing down stiff and headlong like an uprooted tree. There was a swift rush. Men pushed, crying, he's done. Turn him over. Stand clear there. Under a crowd of startled faces bending over him, he lay on his back, staring upward in a continuous and intolerable manner. In the breathless silence of a general consternation, he said in a grating murmur, I am all right, and clutched with his hands. They helped him up. He mumbled despondently, I am getting old, old. Not you cried Belfast, with ready tacked. Supported on all sides he hung his head. Are you better, they asked? He glared at them from under his eyebrows, with large black eyes, spreading over his chest the bushy whiteness of a beard long and thick. Old, old, he repeated sternly. Helped along he reached his bunk. There was in it a slimy, soft heap of something that smelled, as does a dead little water or a muddy foreshore. It was a soaked straw bed. With a convulsive effort he pitched himself onto it, and in the darkness of the narrow place could be heard growling angrily, like an irritated and savage animal, uneasy in its den. Bit of breeze, small thing, can't stand up. Old. He slept at last, high-booted, saw-wester on head, and his oil-skin clothes rustled, when with a deep sighing groan he turned over. Men conversed about him in quiet concerned whispers. This will break him up, strong as a horse. I, but he ain't what he used to be. In sad murmurs they gave him up. Yet at midnight he turned out to duty as if nothing had been the matter and answered to his name with a mournful, here. He brooded alone more than ever in an impenterable silence and with a sad in face. For many years he had heard himself called Old Singleton, and had serenely accepted the qualification. Taking it as a tribute of respect, due to a man who, through half a century, had measured his strength against the favors and the rages of the sea, he had never given a thought to his mortal self. He lived unscathed as though he had been indestructible, surrendering to all the temptations, weathering many gales. He had panted in sunshine, shivered in the cold, suffered hunger, thirst, debauch, passed through many trials, known all the furies. Old. It seemed to him he was broken at last, and like a man bound treacherously while he sleeps, he woke up fettered by the long chain of disregarded years. He had to take up at once the burden of all his existence, and found it almost too heavy for his strength. Old. He moved his arms, shook his head, felt his limbs. Getting old. And then? He looked upon the immortal sea with the awakened and groping perception of its heartless might. He saw it unchanged, black and foaming under the internal scrutiny of the stars. He heard a impatient voice calling for him out of a pitiless vastness full of unrest, of turmoil, and of terror. He looked afar upon it. He saw an immensity tormented and blind, moaning and furious, that claimed all the days of his tenacious life, and, when life was over, would claim the worn-out body of its slave. That was the last of the breeze. It veered quickly, changed to a black southeaster, and blew itself out, giving the ship a famous shove to the northward, into the joyous sunshine of the trade. Rapid and white she ran homewards in a straight path, under a blue sky and upon the plain of a blue sea. She carried singletons, completed wisdom, donkens, delicate susceptibilities, and the conceited folly of us all. The hours of ineffective turmoil were forgotten. The fear and anguish of those dark moments were never mentioned in the glowing piece of fine days. Yet from that time our life seemed to start afresh, as though we had died and been resuscitated. All the first part of the voyage, the Indian Ocean on the other side of the Cape, all that was lost in a haze, like an ineradicable suspicion of some previous existence. It had ended, then there were blank hours, a livid blur, and again we lived. Singleton was possessed of sinister truth, Mr. Crichton of a damaged leg, the cook of fame, and shamefully abused the opportunities of his distinction. Duncan had an added grievance. He went about repeating with insistence. He said he would brain me. Did your ear? They are gone to murder us now for the least little thing. We began at last to think it was rather awful, and we were conceited. We boasted of our pluck, of our capacity for work, of our energy. We remembered honorable episodes, our devotion, our indomitable perseverance, and we're proud of them as though they had been the outcome of our unaided impulses. We remembered our danger, our toil, and conveniently forgot our horrible scare. We decried our officers who had done nothing, and listened to the fascinating Duncan. His care for our rights, his disinterested concern for our dignity, were not discouraged by the invariable customly of our words, by the disdain of our looks. Our contempt for him was unbounded, and we could not but listen with interest to that consummate artist. He told us we were good men, a bloom and condemned a lot of good men. Who thanked us? Who took any notice of our wrongs? Didn't we lead a dog's life for two pounds ten a month? Did we think that miserable pay enough to compensate us for the risk to our lives and for the loss of our clothes? We've lost every rag, he cried. He made us forget that he, at any rate, had lost nothing of his own. The younger men listened, thinking, This ere Duncan's a long-headed chap, though no kind of man, anyhow. The Scandinavians were frightened at his audacities, Womibo did not understand, and the older seamen thoughtfully knotted their heads, making the thin gold earrings glitter in the fleshy lobes of hairy ears. Severe sunburnt faces were propometatively untattled forearms. Bained brown fists held in their knotted grip the dirty white clay of smoldering pipes. They listened, impenturable, broad-backed, with bent shoulders and in grim silence. He talked with ardor despised and irrefutable. His picturesque and filthy lacuosity flowed like a troubled stream from a poisoned source. His beady little eyes danced, glancing right and left, ever on the watch for the approach of an officer. Sometimes Mr. Baker going forward to take a look at the headsheets would roll with his uncouth gait through the sudden stillness of the men. Or Mr. Crichton went along smooth-faced, useful, and more stern than ever, piercing our short silence with a keen glance of his clear eyes. Behind his back Duncan would begin again darting stealthy, side-long looks. Here's one of them. Some of you has made him fast that day. Much thanks you got for it. Ain't he a-driving you wasn't ever? Let him slip overboard. Why not? It would have been less trouble. Why not? He approached confidently, backed away with great effect. He whispered, he screamed, waved his miserable arms no thicker than pipe stems, stretched his lean-necked spluttered squinted. In the pauses of his impassioned orations the wind-side quietly aloft, the calm sea unheeded, murmured in a warning whisper along the ship's side. We abominated the creature and could not deny the luminous truth of his contentions. It was also obvious. We were indubitably good men, our desserts were great and our pay small. Through our exertions we had saved the ship and the skipper would get the credit of it. What had he done, we wanted to know. Duncan asked, what he could do without us, and we could not answer. We were oppressed by the injustice of the world, surprised to perceive how long we had lived under its burden without realizing our unfortunate state, annoyed by the uneasy suspicion of our unasserting stupidity. Duncan assured us it was all our good-heartedness, but we would not be consoled by such shallow sophistry. We were men enough to courageously admit to ourselves our intellectual shortcomings, though from that time we refrained from kicking him, tweaking his nose, or from accidentally knocking him about, which last, after we had weathered the cape, had been rather a popular amusement. Davis ceased to talk at him provokingly about black eyes and flattened noses. Charley, much subdued since the gale, did not jur at him, noles deferentially and with a crafty air propounded questions such as, could we all have the same grub as the mates? Could we all stop ashore till we got it? What would be the next thing to try for if we got that? He answered readily with contemptuous certitude. He strutted with assurance and clothes that were much too big for him as though he had tried to disguise himself. These were Jimmy's clothes, mostly, though he would accept anything from anybody, but nobody, except Jimmy, had anything to spare. His devotion to Jimmy was unbounded. He was forever dodging in the little cabin, ministering to Jimmy's wants, humoring his whims, submitting to his exacting peevishness, often laughing with him. Nothing could keep him away from the pious work of visiting the sick, especially when there was some heavy hauling to be done on deck. Mr. Baker had, on two occasions, jerked him out from there by the scruff of the neck to our inexpressible scandal. Was a sick chap to be left without attendance? Were we to be ill-used for attending a shipmate? What, growled Mr. Baker, turning innocently at the mutter, and the whole half-circle like one man stepped back apace, set the top mess done sail. A wail off, Duncan, overhauled the gear, ordered the mate inflexibly, fetched the sail along, bent the down-haul clear, bare hand. Then, with sail set, he would go slowly aft and stand, looking at the compass for a long time, careworn, pensive, and breathing hard as if stifled by the taint of unaccountable ill-will that pervaded the ship. What's up amongst them, he thought? Can't make out this hanging back and growling. A good crowd, too, as they go nowadays. On deck the men exchanged bitter words, suggested by a silly exasperation against something unjust and irremediable that would not be denied, and would whisper into their ears long after Duncan had ceased speaking. Our little world went on its curved and unswerving path, carrying a discontented and aspiring population. They found comfort of a gloomy kind and an interminable and conscientious analysis of their unappreciated worth, and, inspired by Duncan's hopeful doctrines, they dreamed enthusiastically of the time when every lonely ship would travel over a serene sea, manned by a wealthy and well-fed crew of satisfied skippers. It looked as if it would be a long passage. The southeast trades, light and unsteady, were left behind, and then, on the equator and under a low gray sky, the ship, in close heat, floated upon a smooth sea that resembled a sheet of ground glass. Thunder squalls hung on the horizon, circled round the ship, far off and growling angrily, like a troop of wild beasts afraid to charge home. The invisible sun sweeping above the upright masts, made on the clouds a blurred stain of rayless light, and a similar patch of faded radiance kept pace with it from east to west over the unglittering level of the waters. At night, through the impenderable darkness of earth and heaven, broad sheets of flame waved noiselessly, and for half a second the becalmed craft stood out with its masts and rigging, with every sail and every rope distinct and black in the center of a fiery outburst, like a charge ship enclosed in a globe of fire. And, again, for long hours she remained lost in a vast universe of night and silence, where gentle sighs wandering here and there, like forlorn souls, made the still sails flutter as in sudden fear, and the ripple of a beshrouded ocean whisper its compassion afar, and a voice mournful, immense, and faint. End of Chapter 4 Part 1 Chapter 4 Part 2 of The Nigger of the Narcissus This library box recording is in the public domain. The Nigger of the Narcissus by Joseph Conrad Chapter 4 Part 2 When the lamp was put out, and through the door thrown wide open, Jimmy, turning on his pillow, could see vanishing beyond the straight line of top gallant rail, the quick repeated visions of a fabulous world made up of leaping fire and sleeping water. The lightning gleamed in his big sad eyes, that seemed in a red flicker to burn themselves out in his black face, and then he would lie blinded and invisible in the midst of an intense darkness. He could hear on the quiet deck soft footfalls, the breathing of some man launching on the doorstep, the low creak of swaying masts, or the calm voice of the watch-officer reverberating aloft, hard and loud, amongst the unsteering sails. He listened with a vividly taking arrest in the attendee perception of the slightest sound from the fatiguing wanderings of his sleeplessness. He was cheered by the rattling of blocks, reassured by the stir and murmur of the watch, soothed by the slow yawn of some sleepy and weary seamen subtling themselves deliberately for his snooze on the planks. Life seemed an indestructible thing. It went on in darkness, in sunshine, in sleep, tireless and hovered affectionately around the imposture of his ready death. It was bright, like the twisted flare of lightning, and more full of surprises than the dark night. It made him safe, and the calm of its overpowering darkness was as precious as its restless and dangerous light. But in the evening, in the dog-watches, and even far into the first night-watch, a knot of men could always be seen congregated before Jimmy's cabin. They leaned on each side of the door peacefully interested and with crossed legs. They stood astride the doorstep, discoursing or sat in silent couples on a sea-chest, while against the bulwark along the spare top-mast, three or four in a row stared meditatively, with their simple faces lit up by the projected glare of Jimmy's lamp. The little place, repainted white, had, in the night, the brilliance of a silver shrine where a black idol, reclining stiffly under a blanket, blinked its weary eyes and received her homage. Duncan officiated. He had the air of a demonstrator showing a phenomenon, a manifestation bizarre, simple and meritorious that, to the beholders, should be a profound and an everlasting lesson. Just look at him. He knows what's what. Never fear, he exclaimed now and then, flourishing a hand hard and fleshless, like the claw of a snipe. Jimmy, on his back, smiled with reserve and without moving a limb. He affected the languor of extreme weakness so as to make it manifest to us that our delay in hauling him out from his horrible confinement, and then that night spent on the proof among our selfish neglect of his needs, had done for him. He rather liked to talk about it and, of course, we were always interested. He spoke spasmodically in fast rushes with long pauses between as a tipsy man walks. Cook had just given me a panikin of hot coffee, slapped it down there on my chest, banged the door too. I felt a heavy roll coming, tried to save my coffee, burnt my fingers, and fell out of my bunk. She went over so quick. Water came in through the ventilator. I couldn't move the door. Dark as a grave. Tried to scramble up into the upper berth. Rats. A rat bit my finger as I got up. I could hear him swimming below me. I thought you would never come. I thought you were all gone overboard. Of course. Could hear nothing but the wind. Then you came. To look for the corpse, I suppose. A little more, and man, but ye made a rare lot of noise in here, observed Archie thoughtfully. You chaps kicked up such a confounded row above enough to scare anyone. I didn't know what you were up to. Bash in the blamed planks. My head. Just what a silly scary gang of fools would do. Not much good to me anyhow. Just as well. Drown. Ha. He groaned, snapped his big white teeth, and gazed with scorn. Well fast lifted a pair of duller eyes, with a broken-hearted smile. Clenched his fists tuthily. Blue-eyed Archie caressed his red whiskers with a hesitating hand. The bosson at the door stared a moment, and brusquely went away with a loud guffaw. Womibo dreamed. Duncan felled all over his sterile chin for the few rare hairs, and said triumphantly, with a sidelong glance, Jimmy. Look at him! Wish I were half as healthy as he is, I do. He jerked a short thumb over his shoulder towards the after-end of the ship. That's the blooming way to do him, he yelped with forced heartiness. Jimmy said, Don't be a damn fool in a pleasant voice. Knowles rubbing his shoulder against the doorpost remark shrewdly. We can all go and be took sick. It would be mutiny. Mutiny guan, jeered Duncan. There's no blooming law against being sick. There are six weeks hard for refus and duty, argued Knowles. I mind I once seeded in Cardiff the crew of an overloaded ship. At least way she weren't overloaded, only a fatherly old gentleman with a white beard and an umbrella came along the quay and talked to the hands. Said is how it was cruel hard to be drowned in winter just for the sake of a few pounds more for the owner, he said. Nearly cried over them, he did. And he had a square mainsail coat and a gaff-top sail hat, too, all proper. So they chaps, they said, they wouldn't go to be drowned in winter, depending on that error-plim-soul man to see him through the court. They thought to have a blooming lark and two or three days spree. And to beat give them six weeks, because the ship weren't overloaded. Anyways, they made it out in court that she wasn't. There wasn't one overloaded ship in Beneth dock at all. Appears that old coon he was only on pay and allowance from some kind people under orders to look for overloaded ships, and he couldn't see no further than the length of his umbrella. Some of us in the boarding house where I live, when I'm looking for a ship in Cardiff, stood by to duck that old weeping sponger in the dock. We kept a good look out, too, but he topped his boom directly, he was outside the court. Yes, they got six weeks hard. They listened full of curiosity, nodding in the pauses their rough, fancy faces. Duncan opened his mouth once or twice, but restrained himself. Jimmy lay still with open eyes and nodded all interested. As Seaman admitted the opinion that after a verdict of atrocious partiality, the blooming beaks go and drink at the skipper's expense. Others assented. It was clear, of course. Duncan said, while six weeks ain't much trouble, you sleep all night in, regular, and chokey, do it on the ed. You're used to it, ain't she, Duncan? asked somebody. Jimmy Condon sended to laugh. It cheered up everyone wonderfully. Knowles, with surprising mental agility, shifted his ground. If we all went sick, what would become of the ship, eh? He posed the problem and grinned all round. Let her go to El, sneered Duncan. Dammer, she ain't yawned. What? Just let her drift, insisted Knowles, in a tone of unbelief. I, drift and be blow'd, affirmed Duncan with fine recklessness. The other did not see it, meditated. The stores would run out, he muttered, and never get anywhere. And what about payday, he asked with greater assurance. Jack likes a good payday, exclaimed a listener on the doorstep. I, because then the girls put one arm round his neck, and tether in his pocket, and call him ducky. Don't they, Jack? Jack, you're a terror with the gals. He takes three of them in tow to one, so like one of them Watkins's two funnel-tugs, waddling away with three schooners behind. Jack, you're a lame scamp. Jack, tell us about that one, with a blue eye and a black eye. I do. There's plenty of girls with one black eye along the highway by. No, that's a special one. Come, Jack. Duncan looks severe and disgusted. Jimmy very bored. The gray-haired sea dog shook his head slightly, smiling at the bowl of his pipe, discreetly amused. Knowles turned about bewildered, stammered first at one, then at another. No, I never. Can't talk sensible sense, med stew. Always on the kid. He retired bashfully, muttering and pleased. They laughed, hooting in the crude delight, around Jimmy's bed, whereon a white pillow his hallowed black face moved to and fro restlessly. A puff of wind came, made the flame of the lamp leap, and outside, high up, the sails fluttered, while nearby the block of the foresheet struck a ringing blow on the iron bulwark. A voice far off cried, Helm up! another morphine answered, Hard up, sir! They became silent, waited expectantly. The gray-haired seamen knocked his pipe on the doorstep and stood up. The ship leaned over gently, and the seas seemed to wake up murmuring drowsily. Here's a little wind coming, said someone very low. Jimmy turned over slowly to face the breeze. The voice in the night cried out loud and commanding, Hall the spanker out! The group before the door vanished out of the light. They could be heard trumping aft while they repeated with varied intonations. Spanker out! Out spanker, sir! Duncan remained alone with Jimmy. There was a silence. Jimmy opened and shut his lips several times, as if swallowing drafts of fresher air. Duncan moved the toes of his bare feet and looked at them thoughtfully. Ain't you going to give them a hand with the sail? asked Jimmy. No, if six of them ate enough beef to set that blamed rotten spanker, they ain't fit to live. And sir Duncan, an abhorred faraway voice as though he had been talking from the bottom of a hole. Jimmy considered the conical foul-like profile with a queer kind of interest. He was leaning out of his bunk with a calculating, uncertain expression of a man who reflects how best to lay hold of some strange creature that looked as if it could sting or bite. But he said only, The mate will miss you, and there will be ructions. Duncan got up to go. I will do for him some dark night to see if I don't, he said over his shoulder. Jimmy went on quickly. You are like a pole parrot, like a screeching pole parrot. Duncan stopped and cocked his head tentatively on one side. His big ears stood out, transparent and veined, resembling the thin wings of a bat. Yoss, he said, with his back towards Jimmy. Yes, chatter out all you know, like a dirty white cockatoo. Duncan waited. He could hear the others breathing long and slow. The breathing of a man with a hundred weight or so on the breastbone. Then he asked calmly, What do I know? What, what I tell you, not much. What do you want to talk about my health, so? It's a blooming imposition, a blooming stinking first-class imposition. But it don't take me in, not yet. Jimmy kept still. Duncan put his hands in his pockets, and in one slouching stride came up to the bunk. I talk. What's the odds? They ain't men ear. Sheep they are. A driven lot of sheep. I old you up. Why not? You're well, Orph. I am. I don't say anything about that. Well, let him see it. Let him learn what a man can do. I am a man. I know all about you. Jimmy threw himself further away on the pillow. The other stretched out his skinny neck. Jerked his bird-face down at him as though pecking at the eyes. I am a man. I've seen the inside of every chokey in the colonies, rather than give up my rights. You're a jail-prop, said Jimmy, weakly. I am, and proud of it, too. You. You oven't the bloomin' nerve, so you inventide this ear-dodge. He paused then with marked afterthought. Accentuated slowly. You ain't sick, are you? No, said Jimmy, firmly. Been out of sorts now and again this year. He mumbled with a sudden drop in his voice. Donken closed one eye, amicable and confidential. He whispered, You have done this afore-eventy. Jimmy smiled, then as if unable to hold back he let himself go. Last ship, yes. I was out of sorts on the passage. See, it was easy. They paid me off in Calcutta, and the skipper made no bones about it, either. I got my money all right. Layed up fifty-eight days. The fools, oh Lord, the fools, paid right off. He laughed spasmodically. Donken chimed in giggling, then Jimmy coughed violently. I am as well as ever, he said, as soon as he could draw breath. Donken made the derisive gesture. In chorus, he said profoundly, Any one can see that. They don't, said Jimmy, gasping like a fish. They would swallow any yarn, affirmed Donken. Don't you let on too much, admonished Jimmy, and an exhausted voice. You little guy, eh? Come out of Donken jovially. Then, with sudden disgust, You're all for yourself, so long as you're right. So charged with egoism, James Waite pulled the blanket up to his chin, and lay still for a while. His heavy lips protruded in an everlasting black pout. Why are you so hot on making trouble? He asked without much interest. Cause it's a blooming chime. We were put upon, bad food, bad pay. I want us to kick up a blooming row, a blamed allowing row, that would make him remember knocking people about. Brainless indeed. Ain't we men? His altruistic indignation blazed. Then he said calmly, I've been airing your clothes. All right, said Jimmy, Languidly, bring them in. Give us the key to your chest. I'll put them away for your, said Donken, with friendly eagerness. Bring them in. I will put them away myself. Answered James Waite with severity. Donken looked down muttering. What do you say? What do you say? Inquired Waite anxiously. No dink. The night's dry, let him hang out till the morning, said Donken, and a strangely trembling voice as though restraining laughter or rage. Jimmy seemed satisfied. Give me a little water for the night in my mug, there, he said. Donken took it stride over the doorstep. Get it yourself, he replied in a surly tone. You can do it unless you are sick. Of course I can do it, said Waite, only while then do it, said Donken viciously. If you can look after your clothes, you can look after yourself. He went on deck without a look back. Jimmy reached out for the mug, not a drop. He put it back gently with a faint sigh and closed his eyes. He thought, that lunatic Belfast will bring me some water if I ask. Fool, I am very thirsty. It was very hot in the cabin, and it seemed to turn slowly round, detach itself from the ship, and swing out smoothly into a luminous, arid space where a black sun shone, spinning very fast. A place without any water, no water. A policeman with a face of Donken drank a glass of beer by the side of an empty well, and flew away flapping vigorously. A ship whose mast had protruded through the sky and could not be seen, was discharging grain, and the wind whorled the dry husks and spirals along the kei of a dock, with no water in it. He whirled along with the husks, very tired and light. All was inside was gone. He felt lighter than the husks, and more dry. He expanded his hollow chest. The air streamed in, clearing away in its rush a lot of strange things that resembled houses, trees, people, lampposts. No more. There was no more air, and he had not finished drawing his long breath. But he was in jail. They were locking him up, a door slammed. They turned the kei twice, flung a bucket of water over him. Fool, what for? He opened his eyes, thinking the fall had been very heavy for an empty man. Empty, empty. He was in his cabin. All right. His face was streaming with perspiration, his arms heavier than lead. He saw the cook standing in the doorway, a brass key in one hand, and a bright, thin hook pot in the other. I have locked up the galley for the night, said the cook, beaming benevolently. Eight bells just gone. I brought you a pot of cold tea for your night's drinking, Jimmy. I sweetened it with some white cabin sugar, too. Well, it won't break the ship. He came in, hung the pot on the edge of the bunk, asked perfunctorily, how goes it, and sat down on the box. Mmm, grunted weight, inhospitably. The cook wiped his face with a dirty cotton rag, which afterwards he tied round his neck. That's how the firemen do in steamboats, he said, serenely, and much pleased with himself. My work is as heavy as theirs, I'm thinking, and longer hours. Did you ever see them down in the stoke hold? Like fiends they look, firing, firing, firing, down there. He pointed his forefinger at the deck. Some gloomy thought darkened the shining face, fleeting like the shadow of a traveling cloud over the light of a peaceful sea. The relieved watch tramped noisily forward, passing in a body across the sheen of the doorway. Someone cried, Good night! Belfast stopped for a moment and looked at Jimmy, quivering and speechless with repressed emotion. He gave the cook a glance charged with dismal foreboding and vanished. The cook cleared his throat. Jimmy stared upwards and kept as still as a man in hiding. The night was clear with a gentle breeze. Above the mastheads, the resplendent curve of the Milky Way spanned the sky like a triumphal arch of eternal light, thrown over the dark pathway of the earth. On the folksal head a man whistled with loud precision, a lively jig, while another could be heard faintly, shuffling and stamping in time. There came from forward a confused murmur of voices, laughter, snatches of song. The cook shook his head, glanced obliquely at Jimmy, and began to mutter, I, dance and sing, that's all they think of. I am surprised that Providence don't get tired. They forget the day that's sure to come, but you. Jimmy drank a gulp of tea hurriedly, as though he had stolen it, and shrank under his blankets, edging away towards the bulkhead. The cook got up, closed the door, then sat down again and sat distinctly. Whenever I poked my golly fire, I think of you chaps, swearing, stealing, lying, and worse, as if there was no such thing as another world. Not bad fellows, either, in a way. He conceded slowly. Then, after a pause of regretful musing, he went on in a resigned tone. Well, well, they will have a hot time of it. Hot, did I say? The furnaces of one of them white star boats ain't nothing to it. He kept very still for a while. There was a great stir in his brain, an addled vision of bright outlines, an exciting row of rousing songs and groans of pain. He suffered, enjoyed, admired, approved. He was delighted, frightened, exalted. As on that evening, the only time in his life, 27 years ago, he loved to recall the number of years. When, as a young man, he had, through keeping bad company, become intoxicated in an East End music hall, a tide of sudden feelings slept him clean out of his body. He soared. He contemplated the secret of the hereafter. It commended itself to him. It was excellent. He loved it himself, all hands, and Jimmy. His heart overflowed with tenderness, with comprehension, with the desire to meddle, with anxiety for the soul of that black man, with the pride of possessed eternity, with the feeling of might. Snatching him up in his arms and pitching right into the middle of salvation, the black soul, blacker body, wrought devil. No. Talk strength, Samson. There was a great din, as of symbols in his ears. He flashed through an ecstatic jumble of shining faces, lilies, prayer books, unearthly joy, white skirts, gold harps, black coats, wings. He saw flowing garments, clean-shaped faces, a sea of light, a lake of pitch. There were sweet scent, a smell of sulfur, red tongues of flame licking a white mist. An awesome voice thundered. It lasted three seconds. Jimmy, he cried, in an inspired tone. Then he hesitated. A spark of human pity glimmered yet through the infernal fog of his supreme conceit. What, said James Waite, unwillingly? There was a silence. He turned his head just the least bit and stole a cautious glance. The cook's lips moved without a sound, his face was wrapped, his eyes turned up. He seemed to be mentally imploring deck beams, the brass hook of the lamp, two cockroaches. Look here, said Waite. I want to go to sleep. I think I could. This is no time for sleep, exclaimed the cook, very loud. He had prayerfully divested himself of the last vestige of his humanity. He was a voice, a fleshless and sublime thing as on that memorable night, the night when he went walking over the sea to make coffee for perishing sinners. This is no time for sleeping, he repeated with exultation. I can't sleep. Don't care, damn, said Waite, with facetious energy. I can. Go and turn in. Swear in the very jaws, in the very jaws. Don't you see the everlasting fire? Don't you feel it? Blind, chock-full of sin. Repent, repent. I can't bear to think of you. I hear the call to save you. Night and day. Jimmy, let me save you. The words of entreaty and menace broke out of him in a roaring torrent. The cockroaches ran away. Jimmy perspired, wiggling stethily under his blanket. The cook yelled, your days are numbered. Get out of this, boomed Waite, courageously. Pray with me. I won't. The little cabin was as hot as an oven. It contained an immensity of fear and pain, an atmosphere of shrieks and moans, prayers vociferated like blasphemies and whispered curses. Outside, the men called by Charlie, who informed them in tones of delight that there was a holy row going on in Jimmy's place, crowded before the closed door, too startled to open it. All hands were there. The watch below had jumped out on deck in their shirts as after a collision. Men ran up, asked, What is it? Others said, Listen. The muffled screaming went on. On your knees. On your knees. Shot up. Never. You are delivered into my hands. Your life has been saved. Purpose. Mercy. Repent. You are a crazy fool. Account of you. You. Never sleep in this world if I. Leave off. No. Stokehold. Only think. Then an impassioned screeching babble wore words patterned like hail. No shouted wait. Yes, you are. No help. Everybody says so. You lie. I see you dying this minute before my eyes. As good as dead already. Help shouted Jimmy piercingly. Not in this valley. Look upwards. Howled the other. Go away. Murderer. Help. Clamored Jimmy. His voice broke. There were moanings. Love mutters. A few sobs. What's the matter now? said a seldom heard voice. Fall back, men. Fall back there, repeated Mr. Crichton, sternly pushing through. Here's the old man, whispered some. The cooks in there, sir, exclaimed several, backing away. The door clattered open. A broad stream of light darted out on wandering faces. A warm whiff of abidiated air passed. The two mates towered head and shoulders above the spare gray-haired man who stood revealed between them and shabby clothes stiff and angular like a small carved figure with a thin, composed face. The cook got up from his knees. Jimmy sat high and the bunk clasping his drawn-up legs. The tassel of the blue nightcap almost imperceptibly trembled over his knees. The gaze astonished at his long, curved back, while the white corner of one I gleamed blindly at them. He was afraid to turn his head. He shrank within himself. And there was an aspect astounding and animal-like in the perfection of his expectant immobility. A thing of instinct, the unthinking stillness of a scared brute. What are you doing here? asked Mr. Breaker sharply. My duty, said the cook, with ardor. Your what? began the mate. Captain Alaston touched his arm lightly. I know his caper, he said, in a low voice. Come out of that podmiller, he ordered, aloud. The cook wrung his hands, shook his fists above his head, and his arms dropped as if too heavy. For a moment he stood distracted and speechless. Never, he stammered. I, he, I. What do you say, pronounced Captain Alaston? Come out at once, or I am going, said the cook, with a hasty and somber resignation. He strode over the doorstep, firmly hesitated, made a few steps. They looked at him in silence. I make you responsible, he cried, desperately, turning half-round. That man is dying. I make you. You there yet, called the master, in a threatening tone? No, sir, he exclaimed hurriedly, in the startled voice. The bosson led him away by the arm. Someone laughed. Jimmy lifted his head for a stealthy glance, and in one unexpected leap, spraying out of his bunk. Mr. Baker made a clever catch, and felt him very limp in his arms. The group at the door grunted with surprise. He lies, gasped, late. He talked about black devils. He is a devil, a white devil. I am all right. He stiffened himself, and Mr. Baker experimentally let him go. He staggered a pace or two. Captain Alaston watched him with a quiet and penetrating gaze. Belfast ran to his support. He did not appear to be aware of anyone near him. He stood silent for a moment, battling single-handed with a legion of nameless terrors, amid the eager looks of excited men who watched him far off. Utterly alone in the impenarable solitude of his fear, the sea gurgled through the scuppers as the ship healed over to a short puff of wind. Keep him away from me, said James Waite, at last in his fine baritone voice, and leaning with all his weight on Belfast's neck. I've been better this last week. I am well. I was going back to duty. Tomorrow. Now, if you like, Captain. Belfast hitched his shoulders to keep him upright. No, said the master, looking at him, fixededly. Under Jimmy's armpit, Belfast's red face moved on easily. A row of eyes gleaming stared on the edge of light. They pushed one another with elbows, turned their heads, whispered. Waite let his chin fall on his breast and with lowered eyelids looked round in a suspicious manner. Why not, cried a voice from the shadow. The man's all right, sir. I am all right, said Waite, with eagerness. Been sick. Better. Turn two now. He sighed. Hollowly mother exclaimed Belfast with a heave at the shoulders. Stand up, Jimmy. Keep away from me, then, said Waite, giving Belfast a petulant push and reeling fetched against the doorpost. His cheekbones glistened as though they had been varnished. He snatched off his nightcap, wiped his perspiring face with it, flung it on the deck. I am coming out, he declared, without stirring. No. You don't, said the master, currently. Bare feet shuffled, disapproving voices murmured all around. He went on as if he had not heard. You have been skulking nearly all the passage, and now you want to come out. You think you are near enough to the pay table now? Smell the shore, eh? I have been sick, now better. Mumbled Waite, glaring in the light. You have been shaming sick, retorted Captain Alliston with severity. Why, he hesitated for less than half a second. Why, anybody can see that. There is nothing the matter with you, but you choose to lie up to please yourself. And now you shall lie up to please me. Mr. Baker, my orders are that this man is not to be allowed on deck to the end of the passage. End of Chapter 4, Part 2 Chapter 4, Part 3 of The Nigger of the Narcissus This library of ox recording is in the public domain. The Nigger of the Narcissus by Joseph Conrad. Chapter 4, Part 3 There were exclamations of surprise, triumph, indignation. The dark group of men swung across the light. What for, told you so? Bloom in shame. We've got to say something about that, screeched Duncan from the rear. Never mind, Jim. We will see you righted, cried several together. An elderly seaman stepped to the front. Do you mean to say, sir? he asked ominously. That a sick chap ain't allowed to get well on this ear-ooker? Behind him Duncan whispered excitedly amongst the staring crowd, where no one spared him a glance. But Captain Olliston shook a forefinger at the angry, brownst face of the speaker. You hold your tongue, he said, warningly. This isn't the way, clamor, two or three younger men. Are we blooming machines, inquired Duncan in a piercing tone, and dived under the elbows of the front rank? Soon show him we ain't boys. The man's a man if he is black. We ain't going to work this blooming ship shorthanded if snowball's all right. He says he is. Well then strike, boys, strike. That's the blooming ticket. Captain Olliston said sharply to the second mate, keep quiet, Mr. Crichton, and stood composed in the tumult, listening with profound attention to mixed growls and screeches, to every exclamation and every curse of the sudden outbreak. Someone slammed the cabin door, too, with a kick. The darknessful of menacing mutters leaped with a short clatter over the streak of light, and the men became gesticulating shadows that growled, hissed, laughed excitedly. Mr. Baker whispered, Get away from them, sir. The big shape of Mr. Crichton hovered silently about the slight figure of the master. We have been imposed upon all this voyage, said a gruff voice, but this ear fancy takes the cake. That man is a shipmate. Are we blooming kids? The port watch will refuse duty. Charlie, carried away by his feelings, whistled shrilly, then yelped, Give us our Jimmy. This seemed to cause variation in the disturbance. There was a fresh burst of squabbling uproar. A lot of quarrels were set going at once. Yes, no, never been sick. Go for them, to once. Shut your mouth, youngster, this is men's work. Is it? muttered Captain Olliston bitterly. Mr. Baker grunted. Oh, they've gone silly. They've been simmering for the last month. I did notice, said the master. They have started to row amongst themselves now, said Mr. Crichton, with disdain. Better get after, sir. We will soothe them. Keep your temper, Crichton, said the master. And the three men began to move slowly towards the cabin door. In the shadows of the fore-rigging, a dark mass stamped, eddyed, advanced, retreated. There were words of reproach, encouragement, unbelief, execration. The elder seamen bewildered and angry, growled their determination to go through with something or other, but the younger school of advanced thought exposed there in Jimmy's rungs with confused shouts arguing amongst themselves. They clustered round that morib and carcass, the fit emblem of their aspirations, and encouraging one another, they swayed. They tramped on one spot, shouting that they would not be put upon. Inside the cabin, Belfast, helping Jimmy into his bunk, twitched all over in his desire not to miss the row, and with difficulty restrained the tears of his facile emotion. James Waite flat on his back under the blanket, gasped complaints. We will back you up, never fear, assured Belfast, busy about his feet. I'll come out tomorrow morning. Take my chance. You fellows must, mumbled Waite. I come out tomorrow, skipper or no skipper. He lifted one arm with great difficulty, passed the hand over his face. Don't you let that cook, he breathed out. No, no, said Belfast, turning his back on the bunk. I will put a head on him if he comes near you. I will smash his mug, exclaimed faintly, weight, enraged and weak. I don't want to kill a man, but he panted fast like a dog after a run in sunshine. Someone just outside the door shouted, He's as fit as any of us. Belfast put his hand on the door handle. Here, called James Waite hurriedly, and in such a clear voice that the others spun around with a start, James Waite stretched out black and deathlike in the dazzling light, turned his head on the pillow. His eyes stared at Belfast, appealing and impudent. I am rather weak from lying up so long, he said distinctly. Belfast nodded. Getting quite well now, insisted Waite. Yes, I noticed you getting better this last month, said Belfast, looking down. Hello, what's this, he shouted, and ran out. He was flattened directly against the side of the house by two men who lurched against him. A lot of dispute seemed to be going on all round. He got clear and saw three indistinct figures standing along in the faint of darkness, under the arched foot of the mainsail, that rose above their heads like a convex wall of a high edifice. Duncan hissed. Go for them, it's dark. The crowd took a short run aft in a body, then there was a check. Duncan, agile and thin, flitted past with his right arm going like a windmill, and then stood still suddenly with his arm pointing rigidly above his head. The hurling flight of some heavy object was heard. It passed between the heads of the two mates, bounded heavily along the deck, struck the after-hatch with a ponderous and deaden blow. The bulky shape of Mr. Baker grew distinct. Come to your senses, men, he cried, advancing at the arrested crowd. Come back, Mr. Baker, called the master's quiet voice. He obeyed unwillingly. There was a moment of silence, then a deafening hubbub arose. Above it Archie was heard energetically. If ye do ought again, I will tell. There were shouts. Don't. Drop it. We ain't that kind. The black cluster of human forms reeled against the bowlwork back again towards the house. Ring-bolts rang under stumbling feet. Drop it. Let me. No. Curse you. Ha! Then sounds as if someone's face being slapped. A piece of iron fell on the deck. A short scuffle. And someone's shadowy body scuttled rapidly across the main hatch before the shadow of a kick. A raging voice sobbed out a torrent of filthy language. Throwing things. Good God! Grunted Mr. Baker in dismay. That was meant for me, said the master, quietly. I felt the wind of that thing. What was it? An iron belaying pin? By Jove, muttered Mr. Creighton. The confused voices of men talking to midships mingled with the wash of the sea. Ascended between the silent and distended sails seemed to flow away into the night, further than the horizon, higher than the sky. The stars burned steadily over the inclined mastheads. Trails of light lay on the water, broke before the advancing hull, and, after she had passed, trembled for a long time, as if in awe of the murmuring sea. Meantime the helmsmen, anxious to know what the row was about, had let go of the wheel, and, bent double, ran with long, stealthy footsteps to the break of the poop. The Narcissus, left to herself, came up gently into the wind without anyone being aware of it. She gave a slight roll, and the sleeping sails woke suddenly, coming all together with a mighty flap against the mastheads. Then filled, again, one after another in a quick cessation of loud reports, that ran down the lofty spires till the collapsed mainsail flew out last with a violent jerk. The ship trembled from trunks to keel. The sails kept on rattling like a discharge of musketry. The chainsheets and loose shackles jingled aloft in a thin peel. The gin blocks groaned. It was as if an invisible hand had given the ship an angry shake to recall the men that peopled her dex to the sense of reality, vigilance, and duty. Helm up, ride the master sharply. Run after Mr. Crichton and see what that fool there is up to. Flatten in the headsheets. Stand by the weather forebraces, growled Mr. Baker. Startled men ran swiftly, repeating the orders. The watch below, bended all at once by the watch on deck, drifted towards the folks on twos and threes, arguing noisily as they went. We shall see tomorrow, Crichton loud voice, as if to cover with a menacing hint and in glorious retreat. And then only orders were heard, the falling of heavy coils of rope, the rattling of blocks. Singleton's white head flooded here and there in the night, high above the deck, like the ghost of a bird. Going off, sir, shouted Mr. Crichton from aft. Full again, all right. He's off the headsheets. 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. Crichton was calmly furious, but Captain Alastin was composed and thoughtful. He listened to Mr. Baker's growling argumentation. To Crichton's interjected and severe remarks, while looking down on the deck he weighed in his hand the iron-belaying 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 lane-short figure. They talked over his head. They were dismayed, surprised, and angry. While between them the little quiet men seemed to have found his tastastern serenity in the profound depths of a larger experience. Lights were burning in the folk-soul. Now and then a loud gust of babbling chatter came from forward, swept over the decks, and became faint, as if the unconscious ship, gliding gently through the great piece of the sea, had left behind in forever the foolish noise of turbulent mankind. But it was renewed again and again. Justiculating arms, profiles of heads with open mouths appeared for a moment in the illuminated squares of doorways. Black fists darted with drew. Yes, it was most damnable to have such an unprovoked row sprung on one, as said in 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 answered in a deeper tone. And the clamor of ringing metal spread round the ship in a circle of white vibrations 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 sometimes. Downright horned devils. Pa. This. Nothing. A miss as good as a mile. The wheel was being relieved in the usual way. Fallen by, said very loud the man going off. Fallen by, repeating the other catching hold in the spokes. This headwind is my trouble, exclaimed the master, stamping his foot in sudden anger. Headwind. All the rest is nothing. He was calm again in a moment. Keep them on the move tonight, gentlemen. Just to let them feel we've got hold all the time. Quietly, you know. Mind you keep your hands off them, Crichton. Tomorrow 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 forehead, 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 he would be for a sick brute. If ever creature was in a mortal funk to die, I thought I would let him go out in his own way. Kind of impulse. It never came into my head, those fools. Hmm. Stand to it now, of course. He stuck the blame 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, though. 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 tonight, in case of anything. Just call out if. Did you see the eyes of that sick nigger, Mr. Baker? I fancy he begged me for something. What? Fast I'll 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-emmied shed a miraculous tear of compassion over the uncertainties of life and death. In the blue midst, spreading from twisted threads that stood upright in the bowls of pipes, the fork-soul appeared as vast as a hall. Between the beams, a heavy cloud stagnated, and the lamps surrounded by halos burned each at the core of a purple glow in two lifeless flames without rays. Res drifted in denser wisps. Men sprawled about on the deck, sat in negligent 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 the long, white legs resembled raving some nombolists. While now and then one of the watch on deck would rush in, looking strangely overdressed, listen the 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 a feared? Who's a feared? Another 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 and turned to clinch arguments. Three others, with their heads in a bunch, spoke altogether with a confidential error, and at the top of their voices. It was the 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. Donken, crouching all in a heap against the bow-spread, hunched his shoulder blades 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 at Mounties Cross. The two Scandinavians in a corner had the dumb-founded and distracted aspect of men gazing at a cataclysm. And, beyond the light, Singleton stood in the smoke, monumental and distinct, 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, he 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, I, I. And someone said, well, it's a blooming 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, woefully sitting at Singleton's feet. And a black fellow, too, went on the old seamen. I have seen them die like flies. He stopped, thoughtful, as if trying to recollect gruesome things, details of horrors, heccatooms of niggers. They looked at him fascinated. He was old enough to remember slavers, bloody mutinies, pirates, perhaps. Two could say 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 mustache and beard stirred. He chewed words, mumbled behind tangled white hairs, incomprehensible and exciting, like an oracle behind a veil. Stop for sure. Sick. Instead. Bringing all this headwind, afraid the sea will have her own. Die inside of land. Always do. They know it. Long passages. More days. More dollars. You. He seemed to wake up from a dream. You can't help yourselves, he said, austerely. Skippers no fool. He has something in his mind. Look out. Say, I know him. 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. He said he would brain me, cried Duncan, in a heart-rending tone. Signleton peered downwards with puzzled attention, as though he couldn't find him. Damn you, he said vaguely, giving it up. He radiated unspeakable wisdom, hard unconcerned, the chilling air of resignation. Around him all the listeners felt himself somehow completely enlightened by their disappointment and mute. They lulled about with the careless ease of men who can discern perfectly the irremediable aspect of their existence. He, profound and unconscious, waved 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 their side. Others dived head-first inside lower bunks, swift, and turning round instantly upon themselves, like animals going in the lairs. The grating of a knife-scraping burnt clay was heard. Knowled grin no more. Davis said, in a tone of ardent conviction, Then our skippers loony. Archie muttered, My faith, we haven't heard the last of it yet. Four bells were struck. Half our watch below gone, cried Dole's in alarm, then reflected. Well, two hours' sleep is something towards arrest, he observed, consolingly. Some already pretended to slumber, and Charlie, sound asleep, suddenly said a few slurred words in an arbitrary blank voice. This blame-boy has worms, commented Dole's, 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 whip trembled. Chuck what? asked Archie. Poor Jimmy, breathed out Belfast. He beblowed, 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. Taint his fault is it, argued Belfast in a murmur. I've put him to bed, and 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 determination. Belfast wandered about as though he had lost his way in the dim folk-soul, and nearly fell over Duncan. He contemplated him from on high for a while. Ain't she going to turn in, he asked? Duncan looked up hopelessly. That black-hearted 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 tonight, sonny. Don't you play none of your murder and games around my Jimmy? You haven't pulled him out, you just mined. Because 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 on top the bowed head. You mourned that, my boy, he concluded cheerily. Duncan let it pass. Will they split on me, he asked, with pain and anxiety? Who split, hissed Belfast, coming back a step? I would split your nose this minute, if I hadn't Jimmy to look after. Who do you think we are? Duncan rose, and much Belfast back lurched through the doorway. On all sides, invisible men slept, breathing calmly. He seemed to draw courage and fury from the piece around him. Veminous 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 meager fists at the smoking lights. Year no men, he cried, in a deaden tone. No one moved. Your avent a pluck of a mouse, his voice rose to a husky screech. Womibo darted out of the shoveled head and looked at him wildly. Year's sweepings of ships, I hope you will all rot before you die. Womibo blinked, uncomprehending but interested. Duncan sat down heavily. He blew with force through quivering nostrils. He ground and snapped 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 freshness like the springtime of the earth. The washed decks glistened in a long clear stretch. The oblique sunlight struck the yellow grasses and dazzling splashes, darted over polished rods and 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 main mist and opposite the cabin door. They shuffled, pushed, had an irresolute mane and stalled faces. At every slight movement, nobles lurched heavily on his short leg. Duncan glided behind backs, restless and anxious, like a man looking for an ambush. Captain Alliston came out on the quarter-deck suddenly. He walked to and fro before the front. He was gray, 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 have until now found fault with you, man, said the master, stopping short. He faced them with his worn, steely gaze that, by a universal illusion, 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. Crichton, 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 abortive her up to the mark. If you knew your work as well as I know mine, there would be no trouble. You've been brained in the dark about sea tomorrow morning. Well, you see me now. What do you want? He waited, stepping quickly, to and 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, juggling 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 forever 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, set a bearded shell back in the front rank. Worked too hard? 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 quavering voice, and this ear black, 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, and gusts, violent and cutting, like the gales of those icy seas that had known as youth. Tell you what's the matter? Too big for your boots. Think yourselves damn good men. No 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 someone with shaky exasperation. Your best, stormed on the master. You hear a lot on shore, don't you? They don't tell you there your best isn't much to boast of. I tell you, your best is no better than bad. 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, lifted in his arms, horrified, unbelieving, amazed, and ran in again. There was a moment of profound silence during which a bow-legged seamen, stepping aside, expectorated decorously into this cupper. There is another thing, said the master calmly. He made a quick stride, and with his swing took the 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 error, as though they had never seen a belaying pin before. He held it up. This is my affair. I don't ask you any questions, but you all know it. It has to go where it came from. His eyes became angry. The crowd stirred uneasily. They looked away 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. Donken, he called out in a short, sharp tone. Donken 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 Alliston moved close to him. They were much of a size, and at short range the master exchanged a deadly glance with the BDIs. 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. Donken's arm 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 Captain Alliston again, making a menacing gesture. Donken tore away one arm from his side. Via year down on me he mumbled with effort, and as if his mouth had been full of dough. If you don't, began the master. Donken 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 Alliston, looking at him fiercely. Donken 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 dangerous iron tried to guard his head from a threatening fist. Mr. Baker ceased grunning for a moment. Good, by Jove, murmured appreciatively. Mr. Crichton, in the tone of a connoisseur. Don't touch me, snarled Donken, back and away. Then go. Go faster. Don't you hit me. I will pull you up before a magistrite. I'll show you up. Captain Alliston made a long stride, and Donken, turning his back furlily, 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 you going to stand by and see me bullied? Screamed Donken at the silent crowd that watched him. Captain Alliston walked at him smartly. He started off again with a leap dashed at the fore-rigging, rammed the pin in its hole violently. I'll be even with you yet, he screamed at the ship at large, and vanished beyond the fore-mast. Captain Alliston spun round and walked back after, with a composed face, as though he had already forgotten the scene. Men moved out of his way. He looked at Nolan. 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, Stewart, he called in a tone of relief through the cabin door. I didn't like to see your—ah, give that pin to that chap, sir, observed Mr. Baker. He could have bust—ah, bust your head like an eggshell with it. Oh, he muttered the master absently. Queer a lot, he went on in a low voice. I suppose it's all right now. Never can tell, though, nowadays with such a— Years ago I was a young master then. When China voyage I had a mutiny—real mutiny, Baker—different men, though. I knew what they wanted. They wanted to broach the cargo and get it to 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 yard's braced sharp up. Headwind day after day, he exclaimed bitterly. Shall we never get a decent slant this passage? 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.