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Chapter 3


Meantime the Narcissus, with square yards, ran out of the fair
monsoon. She drifted slowly, swinging round and round the compass,
through a few days of baffling light airs. Under the patter of short
warm showers, grumbling men whirled the heavy yards from side to side;
they caught hold of the soaked ropes with groans and sighs, while their
officers, sulky and dripping with rain water, unceasingly ordered them
about in wearied voices. During the short respites they looked with
disgust into the smarting palms of their stiff hands, and asked one
another bitterly:--"Who would be a sailor if he could be a farmer?" All
the tempers were spoilt, and no man cared what he said. One black night,
when the watch, panting in the heat and half-drowned with the rain,
had been through four mortal hours hunted from brace to brace, Belfast
declared that he would "chuck the sea for ever and go in a
steamer." This was excessive, no doubt. Captain Allistoun, with great
self-control, would mutter sadly to Mr. Baker:--"It is not so bad--not
so bad," when he had managed to shove, and dodge, and manoeuvre his
smart ship through sixty miles in twenty-four hours. From the doorstep
of the little cabin, Jimmy, chin in hand, watched our distasteful
labours with insolent and melancholy eyes. We spoke to him gently--and
out of his sight exchanged sour smiles.

Then, again, with a fair wind and under a clear sky, the ship went
on piling up the South Latitude. She passed outside Madagascar and
Mauritius without a glimpse of the land. Extra lashings were put on the
spare spars. Hatches were looked to. The steward in his leisure moments
and with a worried air tried to fit washboards to the cabin doors. Stout
canvas was bent with care. Anxious eyes looked to the westward, towards
the cape of storms. The ship began to dip into a southwest swell, and
the softly luminous sky of low latitudes took on a harder sheen from
day to day above our heads: it arched high above the ship vibrating and
pale, like an immense dome of steel, resonant with the deep voice of
freshening gales. The sunshine gleamed cold on the white curls of black
waves. Before the strong breath of westerly squalls the ship, with
reduced sail, lay slowly over, obstinate and yielding. She drove to and
fro in the unceasing endeavour to fight her way through the invisible
violence of the winds: she pitched headlong into dark smooth hollows;
she struggled upwards over the snowy ridges of great running seas; she
rolled, restless, from side to side, like a thing in pain. Enduring and
valiant, she answered to the call of men; and her slim spars waving for
ever in abrupt semicircles, seemed to beckon in vain for help towards
the stormy sky.

It was a bad winter off the Cape that year. The relieved helmsmen came
off flapping their arms, or ran stamping hard and blowing into swollen,
red fingers. The watch on deck dodged the sting of cold sprays or,
crouching in sheltered corners, watched dismally the high and merciless
seas boarding the ship time after time in unappeasable fury. Water
tumbled in cataracts over the forecastle doors. You had to dash through
a waterfall to get into your damp bed. The men turned in wet and turned
out stiff to face the redeeming and ruthless exactions of their glorious
and obscure fate. Far aft, and peering watchfully to windward, the
officers could be seen through the mist of squalls. They stood by the
weather-rail, holding on grimly, straight and glistening in their long
coats; and in the disordered plunges of the hard-driven ship, they
appeared high up, attentive, tossing violently above the grey line of a
clouded horizon in motionless attitudes.

They watched the weather and the ship as men on shore watch the
momentous chances of fortune. Captain Allistoun never left the deck,
as though he had been part of the ship's fittings. Now and then the
steward, shivering, but always in shirt sleeves, would struggle towards
him with some hot coffee, half of which the gale blew out of the cup
before it reached the master's lips. He drank what was left gravely in
one long gulp, while heavy sprays pattered loudly on his oilskin coat,
the seas swishing broke about his high boots; and he never took his eyes
off the ship. He kept his gaze riveted upon her as a loving man watches
the unselfish toil of a delicate woman upon the slender thread of whose
existence is hung the whole meaning and joy of the world. We all watched
her. She was beautiful and had a weakness. We loved her no less for
that. We admired her qualities aloud, we boasted of them to one another,
as though they had been our own, and the consciousness of her only fault
we kept buried in the silence of our profound affection. She was born
in the thundering peal of hammers beating upon iron, in black eddies of
smoke, under a grey sky, on the banks of the Clyde. The clamorous and
sombre stream gives birth to things of beauty that float away into the
sunshine of the world to be loved by men. The _Narcissus_ was one of
that perfect brood. Less perfect than many perhaps, but she was ours,
and, consequently, incomparable. We were proud of her. In Bombay,
ignorant landlubbers alluded to her as that "pretty grey ship." Pretty!
A scurvy meed of commendation! We knew she was the most magnificent
sea-boat ever launched. We tried to forget that, like many good
sea-boats, she was at times rather crank. She was exacting. She wanted
care in loading and handling, and no one knew exactly how much care
would be enough. Such are the imperfections of mere men! The ship knew,
and sometimes would correct the presumptuous human ignorance by the
wholesome discipline of fear. We had heard ominous stories about past
voyages. The cook (technically a seaman, but in reality no sailor)--the
cook, when unstrung by some misfortune, such as the rolling over of a
saucepan, would mutter gloomily while he wiped the floor:--"There! Look
at what she has done! Some voy'ge she will drown all hands! You'll see
if she won't." To which the steward, snatching in the galley a moment
to draw breath in the hurry of his worried life, would remark
philosophically:--"Those that see won't tell, anyhow. I don't want to
see it." We derided those fears. Our hearts went out to the old man when
he pressed her hard so as to make her hold her own, hold to every inch
gained to windward; when he made her, under reefed sails, leap obliquely
at enormous waves. The men, knitted together aft into a ready group by
the first sharp order of an officer coming to take charge of the deck in
bad weather:--"Keep handy the watch," stood admiring her valiance. Their
eyes blinked in the wind; their dark faces were wet with drops of water
more salt and bitter than human tears; beards and moustaches, soaked,
hung straight and dripping like fine seaweed. They were fantastically
Misshapen; in high boots, in hats like helmets, and swaying clumsily,
stiff and bulky in glistening oilskins, they resembled men strangely
equipped for some fabulous adventure. Whenever she rose easily to
a towering green sea, elbows dug ribs, faces brightened, lips
murmured:--"Didn't she do it cleverly," and all the heads turning like
one watched with sardonic grins the foiled wave go roaring to leeward,
white with the foam of a monstrous rage. But when she had not been
quick enough and, struck heavily, lay over trembling under the blow, we
clutched at ropes, and looking up at the narrow bands of drenched and
strained sails waving desperately aloft, we thought in our hearts:--"No
wonder. Poor thing!"

The thirty-second day out of Bombay began inauspiciously. In the
morning a sea smashed one of the galley doors. We dashed in through
lots of steam and found the cook very wet and indignant with the
ship:--"She's getting worse every day. She's trying to drown me in front
of my own stove!" He was very angry. We pacified him, and the carpenter,
though washed away twice from there, managed to repair the door. Through
that accident our dinner was not ready till late, but it didn't matter
in the end because Knowles, who went to fetch it, got knocked down by a
sea and the dinner went over the side. Captain Allistoun, looking more
hard and thin-lipped than ever, hung on to full topsails and foresail,
and would not notice that the ship, asked to do too much, appeared to
lose heart altogether for the first time since we knew her. She refused
to rise, and bored her way sullenly through the seas. Twice running,
as though she had been blind or weary of life, she put her nose
deliberately into a big wave and swept the decks from end to end. As the
boatswain observed with marked annoyance, while we were splashing about
in a body to try and save a worthless wash-tub:--"Every blooming thing
in the ship is going overboard this afternoon." Venerable Singleton
broke his habitual silence and said with a glance aloft:--"The old
man's in a temper with the weather, but it's no good bein' angry with
the winds of heaven." Jimmy had shut his door, of course. We knew he was
dry and comfortable within his little cabin, and in our absurd way were
pleased one moment, exasperated the next, by that certitude. Donkin
skulked shamelessly, uneasy and miserable. He grumbled:--"I'm perishin'
with cold outside in bloomin' wet rags, an' that 'ere black sojer sits
dry on a blamed chest full of bloomin' clothes; blank his black soul!"
We took no notice of him; we hardly gave a thought to Jimmy and his
bosom friend. There was no leisure for idle probing of hearts. Sails
blew adrift. Things broke loose. Cold and wet, we were washed about
the deck while trying to repair damages. The ship tossed about, shaken
furiously, like a toy in the hand of a lunatic. Just at sunset there
was a rush to shorten sail before the menace of a sombre hail cloud. The
hard gust of wind came brutal like the blow of a fist. The ship relieved
of her canvas in time received it pluckily: she yielded reluctantly
to the violent onset; then coming up with a stately and irresistible
motion, brought her spars to windward in the teeth of the screeching
squall. Out of the abysmal darkness of the black cloud overhead white
hail streamed on her, rattled on the rigging, leaped in handfuls off the
yards, rebounded on the deck--round and gleaming in the murky turmoil
like a shower of pearls. It passed away. For a moment a livid sun shot
horizontally the last rays of sinister light between the hills of steep,
rolling waves. Then a wild night rushed in--stamped out in a great howl
that dismal remnant of a stormy day.

There was no sleep on board that night. Most seamen remember in their
life one or two such nights of a culminating gale. Nothing seems left of
the whole universe but darkness, clamour, fury--and the ship. And
like the last vestige of a shattered creation she drifts, bearing an
anguished remnant of sinful mankind, through the distress, tumult, and
pain of an avenging terror. No one slept in the forecastle. The tin
oil-lamp suspended on a long string, smoking, described wide circles;
wet clothing made dark heaps on the glistening floor; a thin layer of
water rushed to and fro. In the bed-places men lay booted, resting on
elbows and with open eyes. Hung-up suits of oilskin swung out and
in, lively and disquieting like reckless ghosts of decapitated seamen
dancing in a tempest. No one spoke and all listened. Outside the night
moaned and sobbed to the accompaniment of a continuous loud tremor as
of innumerable drums beating far off. Shrieks passed through the air.
Tremendous dull blows made the ship tremble while she rolled under the
weight of the seas toppling on her deck. At times she soared up swiftly
as if to leave this earth for ever, then during interminable moments
fell through a void with all the hearts on board of her standing still,
till a frightful shock, expected and sudden, started them off again with
a big thump. After every dislocating jerk of the ship, Wamibo, stretched
full length, his face on the pillow, groaned slightly with the pain of
his tormented universe. Now and then, for the fraction of an intolerable
second, the ship, in the fiercer burst of a terrible uproar, remained on
her side, vibrating and still, with a stillness more appalling than the
wildest motion. Then upon all those prone bodies a stir would pass, a
shiver of suspense. A man would protrude his anxious head and a pair
of eyes glistened in the sway of light glaring wildly. Some moved their
legs a little as if making ready to jump out. But several, motionless on
their backs and with one hand gripping hard the edge of the bunk, smoked
nervously with quick puffs, staring upwards; immobilised in a great
craving for peace.

At midnight, orders were given to furl the fore and mizen topsails. With
immense efforts men crawled aloft through a merciless buffeting, saved
the canvas and crawled down almost exhausted, to bear in panting silence
the cruel battering of the seas. Perhaps for the first time in the
history of the merchant service the watch, told to go below, did not
leave the deck, as if compelled to remain there by the fascination of a
venomous violence. At every heavy gust men, huddled together, whispered
to one another.'--"It can blow no harder"--and presently the gale would
give: them the lie with a piercing shriek, and drive their breath back
into their throats. A fierce squall seemed to burst asunder the thick
mass of sooty vapours; and above the wrack of torn clouds glimpses could
be caught of the high moon rushing backwards with frightful speed over
the sky, right into the wind's eye. Many hung their heads, muttering
that it "turned their inwards out" to look at it. Soon the clouds closed
up and the world again became a raging, blind darkness that howled,
flinging at the lonely ship salt sprays and sleet.

About half-past seven the pitchy obscurity round us turned a ghastly
grey, and we knew that the sun had risen. This unnatural and threatening
daylight, in which we could see one another's wild eyes and drawn faces,
was only an added tax on our endurance. The horizon seemed to have come
on all sides within arm's length of the ship. Into that narrowed circle
furious seas leaped in, struck, and leaped out. A rain of salt, heavy
drops flew aslant like mist. The main-topsail had to be goose-winged,
and with stolid resignation every one prepared to go aloft once more; but
the officers yelled, pushed back, and at last we understood that no more
men would be allowed to go on the yard than were absolutely necessary
for the work. As at any moment the masts were likely to be jumped out
or blown overboard, we concluded that the captain didn't want to see all
his crowd go over the side at once. That was reasonable. The watch then
on duty, led by Mr. Creighton, began to struggle up the rigging. The
wind flattened them against the ratlines; then, easing a little, would
let them ascend a couple of steps; and again, with a sudden gust, pin
all up the shrouds the whole crawling line in attitudes of crucifixion.
The other watch plunged down on the main deck to haul up the sail. Men's
heads bobbed up as the water flung them irresistibly from side to side.
Mr. Baker grunted encouragingly in our midst, spluttering and blowing
amongst the tangled ropes like an energetic porpoise. Favoured by an
ominous and untrustworthy lull, the work was done without any one being
lost either off the deck or from the yard. For the moment the gale
seemed to take off, and the ship, as if grateful for our efforts,
plucked up heart and made better weather of it.

At eight the men off duty, watching their chance, ran forward over the
flooded deck to get some rest. The other half of the crew remained aft
for their turn of "seeing her through her trouble," as they expressed
it. The two mates urged the master to go below. Mr. Baker grunted in his
ear:--"Ough! surely now... Ough!... confidence in us... nothing more to
do... she must lay it out or go.

"Ough! Ough!" Tall young Mr. Creighton smiled down at him
cheerfully:--"...She's as right as a trivet! Take a spell, sir." He
looked at them Stonily with bloodshot, sleepless eyes. The rims of his
eyelids were scarlet, and he moved his jaws unceasingly with a slow
effort, as though he had been masticating a lump of india-rubber. He
shook his head. He repeated:--"Never mind me. I must see it out--I must
see it out," but he consented to sit down for a moment on the skylight,
with his hard face turned unflinchingly to windward. The sea spat at
it--and stoical, it streamed with water as though he had been weeping.
On the weather side of the poop the watch, hanging on to the mizen
rigging and to one another, tried to exchange encouraging words.
Singleton, at the wheel, yelled out:--"Look out for yourselves!" His
voice reached them in a warning whisper. They were startled.

A big, foaming sea came out of the mist; it made for the ship, roaring
wildly, and in its rush it looked as mischievous and discomposing as
a madman with an axe. One or two, shouting, scrambled up the rigging;
most, with a convulsive catch of the breath, held on where they stood.
Singleton dug his knees under the wheel-box, and carefully eased the
helm to the headlong pitch of the ship, but without taking his eyes
off the coming wave. It towered close-to and high, like a wall of green
glass topped with snow. The ship rose to it as though she had soared on
wings, and for a moment rested poised upon the foaming crest as if she
had been a great sea-bird. Before we could draw breath a heavy gust
struck her, another roller took her unfairly under the weather bow, she
gave a toppling lurch, and filled her decks. Captain Allistoun leaped
up, and fell; Archie rolled over him, screaming:--"She will rise!"

She gave another lurch to leeward; the lower deadeyes dipped heavily;
the men's feet flew from under them, and they hung kicking above the
slanting poop. They could see the ship putting her side in the water,
and shouted all together:--"She's going!" Forward the forecastle doors
flew open, and the watch below were seen leaping out one after another,
throwing their arms up; and, falling on hands and knees, scrambled aft
on all fours along the high side of the deck, sloping more than the
roof of a house. From leeward the seas rose, pursuing them; they looked
wretched in a hopeless struggle, like vermin fleeing before a flood;
they fought up the weather ladder of the poop one after another, half
naked and staring wildly; and as soon as they got up they shot to
leeward in clusters, with closed eyes, till they brought up heavily with
their ribs against the iron stanchions of the rail; then, groaning, they
rolled in a confused mass. The immense volume of water thrown forward
by the last scend of the ship had burst the lee door of the forecastle.
They could see their chests, pillows, blankets, clothing, come out
floating upon the sea. While they struggled back to windward they
looked in dismay. The straw beds swam high, the blankets, spread out,
undulated; while the chests, waterlogged and with a heavy list, pitched
heavily like dismasted hulks, before they sank; Archie's big coat passed
with outspread arms, resembling a drowned seaman floating with his head
under water. Men were slipping down while trying to dig their fingers
into the planks; others, jammed in corners, rolled enormous eyes. They
all yelled unceasingly:--"The masts! Cut! Cut!..." A black squall howled
low over the ship, that lay on her side with the weather yard-arms
pointing to the clouds; while the tall masts, inclined nearly to the
horizon, seemed to be of an immeasurable length. The carpenter let go
his hold, rolled against the skylight, and began to crawl to the cabin
entrance, where a big axe was kept ready for just such an emergency.
At that moment the topsail sheet parted, the end of the heavy chain
racketed aloft, and sparks of red fire streamed down through the flying
sprays. The sail flapped once with a jerk that seemed to tear our hearts
out through our teeth, and instantly changed into a bunch of fluttering
narrow ribbons that tied themselves into knots and became quiet along
the yard. Captain Allistoun struggled, managed to stand up with his
face near the deck, upon which men swung on the ends of ropes, like nest
robbers upon a cliff. One of his feet was on somebody's chest; his
face was purple; his lips moved. He yelled also; he yelled, bending
down:--"No! No!" Mr. Baker, one leg over the binnacle-stand, roared
out:--"Did you say no? Not cut?" He shook his head madly. "No! No!"
Between his legs the crawling carpenter heard, collapsed at once,
and lay full length in the angle of the skylight. Voices took up the
shout--"No! No!" Then all became still. They waited for the ship to turn
over altogether, and shake them out into the sea; and upon the terrific
noise of wind and sea not a murmur of remonstrance came out from those
men, who each would have given ever so many years of life to see "them
damned sticks go overboard!" They all believed it their only chance; but
a little hard-faced man shook his grey head and shouted "No!" without
giving them as much as a glance. They were silent, and gasped. They
gripped rails, they had wound ropes'-ends under their arms; they
clutched ringbolts, they crawled in heaps where there was foothold; they
held on with both arms, hooked themselves to anything to windward with
elbows, with chins, almost with their teeth: and some, unable to crawl
away from where they had been flung, felt the sea leap up, striking
against their backs as they struggled upwards. Singleton had stuck to
the wheel. His hair flew out in the wind; the gale seemed to take its
life-long adversary by the beard and shake his old head. He wouldn't let
go, and, with his knees forced between the spokes, flew up and down like
a man on a bough. As Death appeared unready, they began to look about.
Don-kin, caught by one foot in a loop of some rope, hung, head down,
below us, and yelled, with his face to the deck:--"Cut! Cut!" Two men
lowered themselves cautiously to him; others hauled on the rope. They
caught him up, shoved him into a safer place, held him. He shouted
curses at the master, shook his fist at him with horrible blasphemies,
called upon us in filthy words to "Cut! Don't mind that murdering fool!
Cut, some of you!" One of his rescuers struck him a back-handed blow
over the mouth; his head banged on the deck, and he became suddenly very
quiet, with a white face, breathing hard, and with a few drops of blood
trickling from his cut lip. On the lee side another man could be seen
stretched out as if stunned; only the washboard prevented him from going
over the side. It was the steward. We had to sling him up like a bale,
for he was paralysed with fright. He had rushed up out of the pantry
when he felt the ship go over, and had rolled down helplessly, clutching
a china mug. It was not broken. With difficulty we tore it away from
him, and when he saw it in our hands he was amazed. "Where did you get
that thing?" he kept on asking us in a trembling voice. His shirt was
blown to shreds; the ripped sleeves flapped like wings. Two men made him
fast, and, doubled over the rope that held him, he resembled a bundle of
wet rags. Mr. Baker crawled along the line of men, asking:--"Are you
all there?" and looking them over. Some blinked vacantly, others
shook convulsively; Wamibo's head hung over his breast; and in painful
attitudes, cut by lashings, exhausted with clutching, screwed up in
corners, they breathed heavily. Their lips twitched, and at every
sickening heave of the overturned ship they opened them wide as if to
shout. The cook, embracing a wooden stanchion, unconsciously repeated a
prayer. In every short interval of the fiendish noises around he could
be heard there, without cap or slippers, imploring in that storm the
Master of our lives not to lead him into temptation. Soon he also became
silent. In all that crowd of cold and hungry men, waiting wearily for
a violent death, not a voice was heard; they were mute, and in sombre
thoughtfulness listened to the horrible imprecations of the gale.

Hours passed. They were sheltered by the heavy inclination of the ship
from the wind that rushed in one long unbroken moan above their heads,
but cold rain showers fell at times into the uneasy calm of their
refuge. Under the torment of that new infliction a pair of shoulders
would writhe a little. Teeth chattered. The sky was clearing, and bright
sunshine gleamed over the ship. After every burst of battering seas,
vivid and fleeting rainbows arched over the drifting hull in the flick
of sprays. The gale was ending in a clear blow, which gleamed and cut
like a knife. Between two bearded shellbacks Charley, fastened with
somebody's long muffler to a deck ring-bolt, wept quietly, with rare
tears wrung out by bewilderment, cold, hunger, and general misery. One
of his neighbours punched him in the ribs asking roughly:--"What's
the matter with your cheek? In fine weather there's no holding you,
youngster." Turning about with prudence he worked himself out of
his coat and threw it over the boy. The other man closed up,
muttering:--"'Twill make a bloomin' man of you, sonny." They flung their
arms over and pressed against him. Charley drew his feet up and his
eyelids dropped. Sighs were heard, as men, perceiving that they were not
to be "drowned in a hurry," tried easier positions. Mr. Creighton, who
had hurt his leg, lay amongst us with compressed lips. Some fellows
belonging to his watch set about securing him better. Without a word
or a glance he lifted his arms one after another to facilitate the
operation, and not a muscle moved in his stern, young face. They
asked him with solicitude:--"Easier now, sir?" He answered with a
curt:--"That'll do." He was a hard young officer, but many of his
watch used to say they liked him well enough because he had "such a
gentlemanly way of damning us up and down the deck." Others unable to
discern such fine shades of refinement, respected him for his smartness.
For the first time since the ship had gone on her beam ends Captain
Allistoun gave a short glance down at his men. He was almost
upright--one foot against the side of the skylight, one knee on the
deck; and with the end of the vang round his waist swung back and forth
with his gaze fixed ahead, watchful, like a man looking out for a sign.
Before his eyes the ship, with half her deck below water, rose and fell
on heavy seas that rushed from under her flashing in the cold sunshine.
We began to think she was wonderfully buoyant--considering. Confident
voices were heard shouting:--"She'll do, boys!" Belfast exclaimed with
fervour:--"I would giv' a month's pay for a draw at a pipe!" One or
two, passing dry tongues on their salt lips, muttered something about a
"drink of water." The cook, as if inspired, scrambled up with his breast
against the poop water-cask and looked in. There was a little at the
bottom. He yelled, waving his arms, and two men began to crawl backwards
and forwards with the mug. We had a good mouthful all round. The master
shook his head impatiently, refusing. When it came to Charley one of his
neighbours shouted:--"That bloom-in' boy's asleep." He slept as though
he had been dosed with narcotics. They let him be. Singleton held to
the wheel with one hand while he drank, bending down to shelter his lips
from the wind. Wamibo had to be poked and yelled at before he saw the
mug held before his eyes. Knowles said sagaciously:--"It's better'n
a tot o' rum." Mr. Baker grunted:--"Thank ye." Mr. Creighton drank and
nodded. Donkin gulped greedily, glaring over the rim. Belfast made us
laugh when with grimacing mouth he shouted:--"Pass it this way. We're
all taytottlers here." The master, presented with the mug again by a
crouching man, who screamed up at him:--"We all had a drink, captain,"
groped for it without ceasing to look ahead, and handed it back stiffly
as though he could not spare half a glance away from the ship. Faces
brightened. We shouted to the cook:--"Well done, doctor!" He sat to
leeward, propped by the water-cask and yelled back abundantly, but the
seas were breaking in thunder just then, and we only caught snatches
that sounded like: "Providence" and "born again." He was at his old game
of preaching. We made friendly but derisive gestures at him, and from
below he lifted one arm, holding on with the other, moved his lips;
he beamed up to us, straining his voice--earnest, and ducking his head
before the sprays.

Suddenly some one cried:--"Where's Jimmy?" and we were appalled once
more. On the end of the row the boatswain shouted hoarsely:--"Has any
one seed him come out?" Voices exclaimed dismally:--"Drowned--is he?...
No! In his cabin!... Good Lord!... Caught like a bloomin' rat in a
trap.... Couldn't open his door... Aye! She went over too quick and
the water jammed it... Poor beggar!... No help for 'im.... Let's go and
see..." "Damn him, who could go?" screamed Donkin.--"Nobody expects you
to," growled the man next to him: "you're only a thing."--"Is there half
a chance to get at 'im?" inquired two or three men together. Belfast
untied himself with blind impetuosity, and all at once shot down to
leeward quicker than a flash of lightning. We shouted all together with
dismay; but with his legs overboard he held and yelled for a rope. In
our extremity nothing could be terrible; so we judged him funny kicking
there, and with his scared face. Some one began to laugh, and, as if
hysterically infected with screaming merriment, all those haggard men
went off laughing, wild-eyed, like a lot of maniacs tied up on a wall.
Mr. Baker swung off the binnacle-stand and tendered him one leg. He
scrambled up rather scared, and consigning us with abominable words to
the "divvle." "You are.... Ough! You're a foul-mouthed beggar, Craik,"
grunted Mr. Baker. He answered, stuttering with indignation:--"Look
at 'em, sorr. The bloomin dirty images! laughing at a chum going
overboard. Call themselves men, too." But from the break of the poop the
boatswain called out:--"Come along," and Belfast crawled away in a hurry
to join him. The five men, poised and gazing over the edge of the poop,
looked for the best way to get forward. They seemed to hesitate. The
others, twisting in their lashings, turning painfull, stared with open
lips. Captain Allistoun saw nothing; he seemed with his eyes to hold the
ship up in a superhuman concentration of effort. The wind screamed loud
in sunshine; columns of spray rose straight up; and in the glitter of
rainbows bursting over the trembling hull the men went over cautiously,
disappearing from sight with deliberate movements.

They went swinging from belaying pin to cleat above the seas that beat
the half-submerged deck. Their toes scraped the planks. Lumps of green
cold water toppled over the bulwark and on their heads. They hung for a
moment on strained arms, with the breath knocked out of them, and with
closed eyes--then, letting go with one hand, balanced with lolling
heads, trying to grab some rope or stanchion further forward. The
long-armed and athletic boatswain swung quickly, gripping things with a
fist hard as iron, and remembering suddenly snatches of the last letter
from his "old woman." Little Belfast scrambled in a rage spluttering
"cursed nigger." Wamibo's tongue hung out with excitement; and Archie,
intrepid and calm, watched his chance to move with intelligent coolness.

When above the side of the house, they let go one after another, and
falling heavily, sprawled, pressing their palms to the smooth teak wood.
Round them the backwash of waves seethed white and hissing. All the
doors had become trap-doors, of course. The first was the galley door.
The galley extended from side to side, and they could hear the sea
splashing with hollow noises in there. The next door was that of the
carpenter's shop. They lifted it, and looked down. The room seemed to
have been devastated by an earthquake. Everything in it had tumbled on
the bulkhead facing the door, and on the other side of that bulkhead
there was Jimmy dead or alive. The bench, a half-finished meat-safe,
saws, chisels, wire rods, axes, crowbars, lay in a heap besprinkled
with loose nails. A sharp adze stuck up with a shining edge that
gleamed dangerously down there like a wicked smile. The men clung to one
another, peering. A sickening, sly lurch of the ship nearly sent them
overboard in a body. Belfast howled "Here goes!" and leaped down. Archie
followed cannily, catching at shelves that gave way with him, and eased
himself in a great crash of ripped wood. There was hardly room for
three men to move. And in the sunshiny blue square of the door, the
boatswain's face, bearded and dark, Wamibo's face, wild and pale, hung
over--watching.

Together they shouted: "Jimmy! Jim!" From above the boatswain
contributed a deep growl: "You. Wait!" In a pause, Belfast entreated:
"Jimmy, darlin', are ye aloive?" The boatswain said: "Again! All
together, boys!" All yelled excitedly. Wamibo made noises resembling
loud barks. Belfast drummed on the side of the bulkhead with a piece of
iron. All ceased suddenly. The sound of screaming and hammering went
on thin and distinct--like a solo after a chorus. He was alive. He was
screaming and knocking below us with the hurry of a man prematurely
shut up in a coffin. We went to work. We attacked with desperation the
abominable heap of things heavy, of things sharp, of things clumsy to
handle. The boatswain crawled away to find somewhere a flying end of a
rope; and Wamibo, held back by shouts:--"Don't jump!... Don't come
in here, muddle-head!"--remained glaring above us--all shining eyes,
gleaming fangs, tumbled hair; resembling an amazed and half-witted fiend
gloating over the extraordinary agitation of the damned. The boatswain
adjured us to "bear a hand," and a rope descended. We made things fast
to it and they went up spinning, never to be seen by man again. A rage
to fling things overboard possessed us. We worked fiercely, cutting our
hands and speaking brutally to one another. Jimmy kept up a distracting
row; he screamed piercingly, without drawing breath, like a tortured
woman; he banged with hands and feet. The agony of his fear wrung our
hearts so terribly that we longed to abandon him, to get out of that
place deep as a well and swaying like a tree, to get out of his hearing,
back on the poop where we could wait passively for death in incomparable
repose. We shouted to him to "shut up, for God's sake." He redoubled his
cries. He must have fancied we could not hear him. Probably he heard his
own clamour but faintly. We could picture him crouching on the edge of
the upper berth, letting out with both fists at the wood, in the
dark, and with his mouth wide open for that unceasing cry. Those were
loathsome moments. A cloud driving across the sun would darken the
doorway menacingly. Every movement of the ship was pain. We scrambled
about with no room to breathe, and felt frightfully sick. The boatswain
yelled down at us:--"Bear a hand! Bear a hand! We two will be washed
away from here directly if you ain't quick!" Three times a sea leaped
over the high side and flung bucketfuls of water on our heads. Then
Jimmy, startled by the shock, would stop his noise for a moment--waiting
for the ship to sink, perhaps--and began again, distressingly loud, as
if invigorated by the gust of fear. At the bottom the nails lay in a
layer several inches thick. It was ghastly. Every nail in the world,
not driven in firmly somewhere, seemed to have found its way into that
carpenter's shop. There they were, of all kinds, the remnants of stores
from seven voyages. Tin-tacks, copper tacks (sharp as needles); pump
nails with big heads, like tiny iron mushrooms; nails without any heads
(horrible); French nails polished and slim. They lay in a solid mass
more inabordable than a hedgehog. We hesitated, yearning for a shovel,
while Jimmy below us yelled as though he had been flayed. Groaning,
we dug our fingers in, and very much hurt, shook our hands, scattering
nails and drops of blood. We passed up our hats full of assorted nails
to the boatswain, who, as if performing a mysterious and appeasing rite,
cast them wide upon a raging sea.

We got to the bulkhead at last. Those were stout planks. She was a
ship, well finished in every detail--the Narcissus was. They were the
stoutest planks ever put into a ship's bulkhead--we thought--and then
we perceived that, in our hurry, we had sent all the tools overboard.
Absurd little Belfast wanted to break it down with his own weight, and
with both feet leaped straight up like a springbok, cursing the Clyde
shipwrights for not scamping their work. Incidentally he reviled all
North Britain, the rest of the earth, the sea--and all his companions.
He swore, as he alighted heavily on his heels, that he would never,
never any more associate with any fool that "hadn't savee enough to know
his knee from his elbow." He managed by his thumping to scare the
last remnant of wits out of Jimmy. We could hear the object of our
exasperated solicitude darting to and fro under the planks. He had
cracked his voice at last, and could only squeak miserably. His back
or else his head rubbed the planks, now here, now there, in a puzzling
manner. He squeaked as he dodged the invisible blows. It was more
heartrending even than his yells. Suddenly Archie produced a crowbar. He
had kept it back; also a small hatchet. We howled with satisfaction.
He struck a mighty blow and small chips flew at our eyes. The boatswain
above shouted:--"Look out! Look out there. Don't kill the man. Easy does
it!" Wamibo, maddened with excitement, hung head down and insanely urged
us:--"Hoo! Strook'im! Hoo! Hoo!" We were afraid he would fall in and
kill one of us and, hurriedly, we entreated the boatswain to "shove
the blamed Finn overboard." Then, all together, we yelled down at the
planks:--"Stand from under! Get forward," and listened. We only heard
the deep hum and moan of the wind above us, the mingled roar and hiss
of the seas. The ship, as if overcome with despair, wallowed lifelessly,
and our heads swam with that unnatural motion. Belfast clamoured:--"For
the love of God, Jimmy, where are ye?... Knock! Jimmy darlint!... Knock!
You bloody black beast! Knock!" He was as quiet as a dead man inside
a grave; and, like men standing above a grave, we were on the verge
of tears--but with vexation, the strain, the fatigue; with the great
longing to be done with it, to get away, and lie down to rest somewhere
where we could see our danger and breathe. Archie shouted:--"Gi'e me
room!" We crouched behind him, guarding our heads, and he struck time
after time in the joint of planks. They cracked. Suddenly the crowbar
went halfway in through a splintered oblong hole. It must have missed
Jimmy's head by less than an inch. Archie withdrew it quickly, and that
infamous nigger rushed at the hole, put his lips to it, and whispered
"Help" in an almost extinct voice; he pressed his head to it, trying
madly to get out through that opening one inch wide and three inches
long. In our disturbed state we were absolutely paralysed by his
incredible action. It seemed impossible to drive him away. Even Archie
at last lost his composure. "If ye don't clear oot I'll drive the
crowbar thro' your head," he shouted in a determined voice. He meant
what he said, and his earnestness seemed to make an impression on Jimmy.
He disappeared suddenly, and we set to prising and tearing at the planks
with the eagerness of men trying to get at a mortal enemy, and spurred
by the desire to tear him limb from limb. The wood split, cracked, gave
way. Belfast plunged in head and shoulders and groped viciously. "I've
got 'im! Got 'im," he shouted. "Oh! There!... He's gone; I've got
'im!... Pull at my legs!... Pull!" Wamibo hooted unceasingly. The
boatswain shouted directions:--"Catch hold of his hair, Belfast; pull
straight up, you two!... Pull fair!" We pulled fair. We pulled Belfast
out with a jerk, and dropped him with disgust. In a sitting posture,
purple-faced, he sobbed despairingly:--"How can I hold on to 'is
blooming short wool?" Suddenly Jimmy's head and shoulders appeared. He
stuck halfway, and with rolling eyes foamed at our feet. We flew at him
with brutal impatience, we tore the shirt off his back, we tugged at his
ears, we panted over him; and all at once he came away in our hands as
though somebody had let go his legs. With the same movement, without
a pause, we swung him up. His breath whistled, he kicked our upturned
faces, he grasped two pairs of arms above his head, and he squirmed up
with such precipitation that he seemed positively to escape from our
hands like a bladder full of gas. Streaming with perspiration, we
swarmed up the rope, and, coming into the blast of cold wind, gasped
like men plunged into icy water. With burning faces we shivered to the
very marrow of our bones. Never before had the gale seemed to us more
furious, the sea more mad, the sunshine more merciless and mocking, and
the position of the ship more hopeless and appalling. Every movement of
her was ominous of the end of her agony and of the beginning of ours. We
staggered away from the door, and, alarmed by a sudden roll, fell down
in a bunch. It appeared to us that the side of the house was more smooth
than glass and more slippery than ice. There was nothing to hang on to
but a long brass hook used sometimes to keep back an open door. Wamibo
held on to it and we held on to Wamibo, clutching our Jimmy. He had
completely collapsed now. He did not seem to have the strength to close
his hand. We stuck to him blindly in our fear. We were not afraid of
Wamibo letting go (we remembered that the brute was stronger than any
three men in the ship), but we were afraid of the hook giving way, and
we also believed that the ship had made up her mind to turn over
at last. But she didn't. A sea swept over us. The boatswain
spluttered:--"Up and away. There's a lull. Away aft with you, or we will
all go to the devil here." We stood up surrounding Jimmy. We begged him
to hold up, to hold on, at least. He glared with his bulging eyes, mute
as a fish, and with all the stiffening knocked out of him. He wouldn't
stand; he wouldn't even as much as clutch at our necks; he was only a
cold black skin loosely stuffed with soft cotton wool; his arms and legs
swung jointless and pliable; his head rolled about; the lower lip hung
down, enormous and heavy. We pressed round him, bothered and dismayed;
sheltering him we swung here and there in a body; and on the very
brink of eternity we tottered all together with concealing and absurd
gestures, like a lot of drunken men embarrassed with a stolen corpse.

Something had to be done. We had to get him aft. A rope was tied slack
under his armpits, and, reaching up at the risk of our lives, we
hung him on the fore-sheet cleet. He emitted no sound; he looked as
ridiculously lamentable as a doll that had lost half its sawdust, and we
started on our perilous journey over the main deck, dragging along
with care that pitiful, that limp, that hateful burden. He was not very
heavy, but had he weighed a ton he could not have been more awkward to
handle. We literally passed him from hand to hand. Now and then we had
to hang him up on a handy belaying-pin, to draw a breath and reform
the line. Had the pin broken he would have irretrievably gone into
the Southern Ocean, but he had to take his chance of that; and after a
little while, becoming apparently aware of it, he groaned slightly, and
with a great effort whispered a few words. We listened eagerly. He was
reproaching us with our carelessness in letting him run such risks:
"Now, after I got myself out from there," he breathed out weakly.
"There" was his cabin. And he got himself out. We had nothing to do with
it apparently!... No matter.... We went on and let him take his chances,
simply because we could not help it; for though at that time we hated
him more than ever--more than anything under heaven--we did not want to
lose him. We had so far saved him; and it had become a personal
matter between us and the sea. We meant to stick to him. Had we (by an
incredible hypothesis) undergone similar toil and trouble for an empty
cask, that cask would have become as precious to us as Jimmy was. More
precious, in fact, because we would have had no reason to hate the cask.
And we hated James Wait. We could not get rid of the monstrous suspicion
that this astounding black-man was shamming sick, had been malingering
heartlessly in the face of our toil, of our scorn, of our patience--and
now was malingering in the face of our devotion--in the face of death.
Our vague and imperfect morality rose with disgust at his unmanly lie.
But he stuck to it manfully--amazingly. No! It couldn't be. He was
at all extremity. His cantankerous temper was only the result of the
provoking invincible-ness of that death he felt by his side. Any man may
be angry with such a masterful chum. But, then, what kind of men were
we--with our thoughts! Indignation and doubt grappled within us in a
scuffle that trampled upon the finest of our feelings. And we hated him
because of the suspicion; we detested him because of the doubt. We could
not scorn him safely--neither could we pity him without risk to our
dignity. So we hated him and passed him carefully from hand to hand. We
cried, "Got him?"--"Yes. All right. Let go."

And he swung from one enemy to another, showing about as much life as an
old bolster would do. His eyes made two narrow white slits in the black
face. The air escaped through his lips with a noise like the sound
of bellows. We reached the poop ladder at last, and it being a
comparatively safe place, we lay for a moment in an exhausted heap to
rest a little. He began to mutter. We were always incurably anxious to
hear what he had to say. This time he mumbled peevishly, "It took you
some time to come! I began to think the whole smart lot of you had been
washed overboard. What kept you back? Hey? Funk?" We said nothing. With
sighs we started again to drag him up. The secret and ardent desire of
our hearts was the desire to beat him viciously with our fists about
the head; and we handled him as tenderly as though he had been made of
glass....

The return on the poop was like the return of wanderers after many years
amongst people marked by the desolation of time. Eyes were turned slowly
in their sockets, glancing at us. Faint murmurs were heard, "Have you
got 'im after all?" The well-known faces looked strange and familiar;
they seemed faded and grimy; they had a mingled expression of fatigue
and eagerness. They seemed to have become much thinner during our
absence, as if all these men had been starving for a long time in their
abandoned attitudes. The captain, with a round turn of a rope on his
wrist, and kneeling on one knee, swung with a face cold and stiff; but
with living eyes he was still holding the ship up, heeding no one, as
if lost in the unearthly effort of that endeavour. We fastened up James
Wait in a safe place. Mr. Baker scrambled along to lend a hand. Mr.
Creighton, on his back, and very pale, muttered, "Well done," and gave
us, Jimmy and the sky, a scornful glance, then closed his eyes slowly.
Here and there a man stirred a little, but most of them remained
apathetic, in cramped positions, muttering between shivers. The sun was
setting. A sun enormous, unclouded and red, declining low as if bending
down to look into their faces. The wind whistled across long sunbeams
that, resplendent and cold, struck full on the dilated pupils of staring
eyes without making them wink. The wisps of hair and the tangled beards
were grey with the salt of the sea. The faces were earthy, and the dark
patches under the eyes extended to the ears, smudged into the hollows of
sunken cheeks. The lips were livid and thin, and when they moved it
was with difficulty, as though they had been glued to the teeth. Some
grinned sadly in the sunlight, shaking with cold. Others were sad and
still. Charley, subdued by the sudden disclosure of the insignificance
of his youth, darted fearful glances. The two smooth-faced Norwegians
resembled decrepit children, staring stupidly. To leeward, on the edge
of the horizon, black seas leaped up towards the glowing sun. It sank
slowly, round and blazing, and the crests of waves splashed on the edge
of the luminous circle. One of the Norwegians appeared to catch sight
of it, and, after giving a violent start, began to speak. His voice,
startling the others, made them stir. They moved their heads stiffly, or
turning with difficulty, looked at him with surprise, with fear, or in
grave silence. He chattered at the setting sun, nodding his head, while
the big seas began to roll across the crimson disc; and over miles of
turbulent waters the shadows of high waves swept with a running darkness
the faces of men. A crested roller broke with a loud hissing roar, and
the sun, as if put out, disappeared. The chattering voice faltered, went
out together with the light. There were sighs. In the sudden lull that
follows the crash of a broken sea a man said wearily, "Here's that
blooming Dutchman gone off his chump." A seaman, lashed by the middle,
tapped the deck with his open hand with unceasing quick flaps. In the
gathering greyness of twilight a bulky form was seen rising aft, and
began marching on all fours with the movements of some big cautious
beast. It was Mr. Baker passing along the line of men. He grunted
encouragingly over every one, felt their fastenings. Some, with
half-open eyes, puffed like men oppressed by heat; others mechanically
and in dreamy voices answered him, "Aye! aye! sir!" He went from one to
another grunting, "Ough!... See her through it yet;" and unexpectedly,
with loud angry outbursts, blew up Knowles for cutting off a long
piece from the fall of the relieving tackle. "Ough!------Ashamed
of yourself------Relieving tackle------Don't you know
better!------Ough!------Able seaman! Ough!" The lame man was crushed.
He muttered, "Get som'think for a lashing for myself, sir."--"Ough!
Lashing------yourself. Are you a tinker or a sailor------What?
Ough!------May want that tackle directly------Ough!------More use to
the ship than your lame carcass. Ough!------Keep it!------Keep it, now
you've done it."

He crawled away slowly, muttering to himself about some men being "worse
than children." It had been a comforting row. Low exclamations were
heard: "Hallo... Hallo."... Those who had been painfully dozing asked
with convulsive starts, "What's up?... What is it?" The answers came
with unexpected cheerfulness: "The mate is going bald-headed for lame
Jack about something or other." "No!".... "What 'as he done?" Some one
even chuckled. It was like a whiff of hope, like a reminder of safe
days. Donkin, who had been stupefied with fear, revived suddenly and
began to shout:--"'Ear 'im; that's the way they tawlk to us. Vy donch
'ee 'it 'im--one ov yer? 'It 'im. 'It 'im! Comin' the mate over us.
We are as good men as 'ee! We're all goin' to 'ell now. We 'ave been
starved in this rotten ship, an' now we're goin' to be drowned for them
black 'earted bullies! 'It 'im!" He shrieked in the deepening gloom, he
blubbered and sobbed, screaming:--"'It 'im! 'It 'im!" The rage and fear
of his disregarded right to live tried the steadfastness of hearts
more than the menacing shadows of the night that advanced through the
unceasing clamour of the gale. From aft Mr. Baker was heard:--"Is one
of you men going to stop him--must I come along?" "Shut up!"... "Keep
quiet!" cried various voices, exasperated, trembling with cold.--"You'll
get one across the mug from me directly," said an invisible seaman, in
a weary tone, "I won't let the mate have the trouble." He ceased and lay
still with the silence of despair. On the black sky the stars, coming
out, gleamed over an inky sea that, speckled with foam, flashed back at
them the evanescent and pale light of a dazzling whiteness born from the
black turmoil of the waves. Remote in the eternal calm they glittered
hard and cold above the uproar of the earth; they surrounded the
vanquished and tormented ship on all sides: more pitiless than the eyes
of a triumphant mob, and as unapproachable as the hearts of men.

The icy south wind howled exultingly under the sombre splendour of the
sky. The cold shook the men with a resistless violence as though it had
tried to shake them to pieces. Short moans were swept unheard off the
stiff lips. Some complained in mutters of "not feeling themselves below
the waist;" while those who had closed their eyes, imagined they had a
block of ice on their chests. Others, alarmed at not feeling any pain
in their fingers, beat the deck feebly with their hands--obstinate and
exhausted. Wamibo stared vacant and dreamy. The Scandinavians kept on a
meaningless mutter through chattering teeth. The spare Scotchmen, with
determined efforts, kept their lower jaws still. The West-country men
lay big and stolid in an invulnerable surliness. A man yawned and swore
in turns. Another breathed with a rattle in his throat. Two elderly
hard-weather shellbacks, fast side by side, whispered dismally to one
another about the landlady of a boarding-house in Sunderland, whom they
both knew. They extolled her motherliness and her liberality; they
tried to talk about the joint of beef and the big fire in the downstairs
kitchen. The words dying faintly on their lips, ended in light sighs.
A sudden voice cried into the cold night, "O Lord!" No one changed
his position or took any notice of the cry. One or two passed, with a
repeated and vague gesture, their hand over their faces, but most of
them kept very still. In the benumbed immobility of their bodies they
were excessively wearied by their thoughts, which rushed with the
rapidity and vividness of dreams. Now and then, by an abrupt and
startling exclamation, they answered the weird hail of some illusion;
then, again, in silence contemplated the vision of known faces and
familiar things. They recalled the aspect of forgotten shipmates and
heard the voice of dead and gone skippers. They remembered the noise of
gaslit streets, the steamy heat of tap-rooms or the scorching sunshine
of calm days at sea.

Mr. Baker left his insecure place, and crawled, with stoppages, along
the poop. In the dark and on all fours he resembled some carnivorous
animal prowling amongst corpses. At the break, propped to windward of
a stanchion, he looked down on the main deck. It seemed to him that
the ship had a tendency to stand up a little more. The wind had eased
a little, he thought, but the sea ran as high as ever. The waves foamed
viciously, and the lee side of the deck disappeared under a hissing
whiteness as of boiling milk, while the rigging sang steadily with a
deep vibrating note, and, at every upward swing of the ship, the wind
rushed with a long-drawn clamour amongst the spars. Mr. Baker watched
very still. A man near him began to make a blabbing noise with his
lips, all at once and very loud, as though the cold had broken brutally
through him. He went on:--"Ba--ba--ba--brrr--brr--ba--ba."--"Stop that!"
cried Mr. Baker, groping in the dark. "Stop it!" He went on shaking the
leg he found under his hand.--"What is it, sir?" called out Belfast,
in the tone of a man awakened suddenly; "we are looking after that
'ere Jimmy."--"Are you? Ough! Don't make that row then. Who's that near
you?"--"It's me--the boatswain, sir," growled the West-country man;
"we are trying to keep life in that poor devil."--"Aye, aye!" said Mr.
Baker. "Do it quietly, can't you?"--"He wants us to hold him up above
the rail," went on the boatswain, with irritation, "says he can't
breathe here under our jackets."--"If we lift 'im, we drop 'im
overboard," said another voice, "we can't feel our hands with cold."--"I
don't care. I am choking!" exclaimed James Wait in a clear tone.--"Oh,
no, my son," said the boatswain, desperately, "you don't go till we
all go on this fine night."--"You will see yet many a worse," said Mr.
Baker, cheerfully.--"It's no child's play, sir!" answered the boatswain.
"Some of us further aft, here, are in a pretty bad way."--"If the blamed
sticks had been cut out of her she would be running along on her bottom
now like any decent ship, an' giv' us all a chance," said some one,
with a sigh.--"The old man wouldn't have it... much he cares for us,"
whispered another.--"Care for you!" exclaimed Mr. Baker, angrily. "Why
should he care for you? Are you a lot of women passengers to be taken
care of? We are here to take care of the ship--and some of you ain't up
to that. Ough!... What have you done so very smart to be taken care of?
Ough!... Some of you can't stand a bit of a breeze without crying over
it."--"Come, sorr. We ain't so bad," protested Belfast, in a voice
shaken by shivers; "we ain't... brr..."--"Again," shouted the mate,
grabbing at the shadowy form; "again!... Why, you're in your shirt! What
have you done?"--"I've put my oilskin and jacket over that half-dead
nayggur--and he says he chokes," said Belfast, complainingly.--"You
wouldn't call me nigger if I wasn't half dead, you Irish beggar!" boomed
James Wait, vigorously.--"You... brrr... You wouldn't be white if you
were ever so well... I will fight you... brrrr... in fine weather...
brrr ... with one hand tied behind my back... brrrrrr..."--"I don't want
your rags--I want air," gasped out the other faintly, as if suddenly
exhausted.

The sprays swept over whistling and pattering. Men disturbed in their
peaceful torpor by the pain of quarrelsome shouts, moaned, muttering
curses. Mr. Baker crawled off a little way to leeward where a water-cask
loomed up big, with something white against it. "Is it you, Podmore?"
asked Mr. Baker, He had to repeat the question twice before the cook
turned, coughing feebly.--"Yes, sir. I've been praying in my mind for
a quick deliverance; for I am prepared for any call.... I------"--"Look
here, cook," interrupted Mr. Baker, "the men are perishing with
cold."--"Cold!" said the cook, mournfully; "they will be warm enough
before long."--"What?" asked Mr. Baker, looking along the deck into the
faint sheen of frothing water.--"They are a wicked lot," continued the
cook solemnly, but in an unsteady voice, "about as wicked as any ship's
company in this sinful world! Now, I"--he trembled so that he could
hardly speak; his was an exposed place, and in a cotton shirt, a thin
pair of trousers, and with his knees under his nose, he received,
quaking, the flicks of stinging, salt drops; his voice sounded
exhausted--"now. I--any time ... My eldest youngster, Mr. Baker.. a
clever boy... last Sunday on shore before this voyage he wouldn't go to
church, sir. Says I, 'You go and clean yourself, or I'll know the reason
why!' What does he do?... Pond, Mr. Baker--fell into the pond in his
best rig, sir!... Accident?... 'Nothing will save you, fine scholar
though you are!' says I.... Accident!... I whopped him, sir, till
I couldn't lift my arm...." His voice faltered. "I whopped 'im!" he
repeated, rattling his teeth; then, after a while, let out a mournful
sound that was half a groan, half a snore. Mr. Baker shook him by the
shoulders. "Hey! Cook! Hold up, Podmore! Tell me--is there any fresh
water in the galley tank? The ship is lying along less, I think; I would
try to get forward. A little water would do them good. Hallo! Look out!
Look out!" The cook struggled.--"Not you, sir--not you!" He began to
scramble to windward. "Galley!... my business!" he shouted.--"Cook's
going crazy now," said several voices. He yelled:--"Crazy, am I? I am
more ready to die than any of you, officers incloosive--there! As long
as she swims I will cook! I will get you coffee."--"Cook, ye are a
gentleman!" cried Belfast. But the cook was already going over the
weather-ladder. He stopped for a moment to shout back on the poop:--"As
long as she swims I will cook!" and disappeared as though he had gone
overboard. The men who had heard sent after him a cheer that sounded
like a wail of sick children. An hour or more afterwards some one
said distinctly: "He's gone for good."--"Very likely," assented the
boatswain; "even in fine weather he was as smart about the deck as a
milch-cow on her first voyage. We ought to go and see." Nobody moved. As
the hours dragged slowly through the darkness Mr. Baker crawled back and
forth along the poop several times. Some men fancied they had heard him
exchange murmurs with the master, but at that time the memories were
incomparably more vivid than anything actual, and they were not certain
whether the murmurs were heard now or many years ago. They did not try
to find out. A mutter more or less did not matter. It was too cold
for curiosity, and almost for hope. They could not spare a moment or
a thought from the great mental occupation of wishing to live. And the
desire of life kept them alive, apathetic and enduring, under the cruel
persistence of wind and cold; while the bestarred black dome of the sky
revolved slowly above the ship, that drifted, bearing their patience and
their suffering, through the stormy solitude of the sea.

Huddled close to one another, they fancied themselves utterly alone.
They heard sustained loud noises, and again bore the pain of existence
through long hours of profound silence. In the night they saw sunshine,
felt warmth, and suddenly, with a start, thought that the sun would
never rise upon a freezing world. Some heard laughter, listened to
songs; others, near the end of the poop, could hear loud human shrieks,
and opening their eyes, were surprised to hear them still, though very
faint, and far away. The boatswain said:--"Why, it's the cook, hailing
from forward, I think." He hardly believed his own words or recognised
his own voice. It was a long time before the man next to him gave a
sign of life. He punched hard his other neighbour and said:--"The cook's
shouting!" Many did not understand, others did not care; the majority
further aft did not believe. But the boatswain and another man had the
pluck to crawl away forward to see. They seemed to have been gone for
hours, and were very soon forgotten. Then suddenly men who had been
plunged in a hopeless resignation became as if possessed with a desire
to hurt. They belaboured one another with fists. In the darkness they
struck persistently anything soft they could feel near, and, with a
greater effort than for a shout, whispered excitedly:--"They've got some
hot coffee.... Boss'en got it...." "No!... Where?".... "It's coming!
Cook made it." James Wait moaned. Donkin scrambled viciously, caring not
where he kicked, and anxious that the officers should have none of it.
It came in a pot, and they drank in turns. It was hot, and while it
blistered the greedy palates, it seemed incredible. The men sighed out
parting with the mug:--"How 'as he done it?" Some cried weakly:--"Bully
for you, doctor!"

He had done it somehow. Afterwards Archie declared that the thing
was "meeraculous." For many days we wondered, and it was the one
ever-interesting subject of conversation to the end of the voyage.
We asked the cook, in fine weather, how he felt when he saw his stove
"reared up on end." We inquired, in the north-east trade and on serene
evenings, whether he had to stand on his head to put things right
somewhat. We suggested he had used his bread-board for a raft, and from
there comfortably had stoked his grate; and we did our best to conceal
our admiration under the wit of fine irony. He affirmed not to know
anything about it, rebuked our levity, declared himself, with solemn
animation, to have been the object of a special mercy for the saving of
our unholy lives. Fundamentally he was right, no doubt; but he need not
have been so offensively positive about it--he need not have hinted
so often that it would have gone hard with us had he not been there,
meritorious and pure, to receive the inspiration and the strength for
the work of grace. Had we been saved by his recklessness or his agility,
we could have at length become reconciled to the fact; but to admit our
obligation to anybody's virtue and holiness alone was as difficult
for us as for any other handful of mankind. Like many benefactors of
humanity, the cook took himself too seriously, and reaped the reward of
irreverence. We were not un-ungrateful, however. He remained heroic. His
saying--_the_ saying of his life--became proverbial in the mouth of men
as are the sayings of conquerors or sages. Later, whenever one of us
was puzzled by a task and advised to relinquish it, he would express his
determination to persevere and to succeed by the words:--"As long as she
swims I will cook!"

The hot drink helped us through the bleak hours that precede the dawn.
The sky low by the horizon took on the delicate tints of pink and yellow
like the inside of a rare shell. And higher, where it glowed with a
pearly sheen, a small black cloud appeared, like a forgotten fragment of
the night set in a border of dazzling gold. The beams of light skipped
on the crests of waves. The eyes of men turned to the eastward. The
sunlight flooded their weary faces. They were giving themselves up to
fatigue as though they had done for ever with their work. On Singleton's
black oilskin coat the dried salt glistened like hoar frost. He hung
on by the wheel, with open and lifeless eyes. Captain Allistoun,
unblinking, faced the rising sun. His lips stirred, opened for the first
time in twenty-four hours, and with a fresh firm voice he cried, "Wear
ship!"

The commanding sharp tones made all these torpid men start like a sudden
flick of a whip. Then again, motionless where they lay, the force of
habit made some of them repeat the order in hardly audible murmurs.
Captain Allistoun glanced down at his crew, and several, with fumbling
fingers and hopeless movements, tried to cast themselves adrift. He
repeated impatiently, "Wear ship. Now then, Mr. Baker, get the
men along. What's the matter with them?"--"Wear ship. Do you hear
there?--Wear ship!" thundered out the boatswain suddenly. His voice
seemed to break through a deadly spell. Men began to stir and crawl.--"I
want the fore-top-mast staysail run up smartly," said the master,
very loudly; "if you can't manage it standing up you must do it lying
down--that's all. Bear a hand!"--"Come along! Let's give the old girl
a chance," urged the boatswain.--"Aye! aye! Wear ship!" exclaimed
quavering voices. The forecastle men, with reluctant faces, prepared to
go forward. Mr. Baker pushed ahead, grunting, on all fours to show the
way, and they followed him over the break. The others lay still with a
vile hope in their hearts of not being required to move till they got
saved or drowned in peace.

After some time they could be seen forward appearing on the forecastle
head, one by one in unsafe attitudes; hanging on to the rails,
clambering over the anchors; embracing the cross-head of the windlass
or hugging the fore-capstan. They were restless with strange exertions,
waved their arms, knelt, lay flat down, staggered up, seemed to strive
their hardest to go overboard. Suddenly a small white piece of canvas
fluttered amongst them, grew larger, beating. Its narrow head rose
in jerks--and at last it stood distended and triangular in the
sunshine.--"They have done it!" cried the voices aft. Captain Allistoun
let go the rope he had round his wrist and rolled to leeward headlong.
He could be seen casting the lee main braces off the pins while the
backwash of waves splashed over him.--"Square the main yard!" he shouted
up to us--who stared at him in wonder. We hesitated to stir. "The
main brace, men. Haul! haul anyhow! Lay on your backs and haul!" he
screeched, half drowned down there. We did not believe we could move the
main yard, but the strongest and the less discouraged tried to execute
the order. Others assisted half-heartedly. Singleton's eyes blazed
suddenly as he took a fresh grip of the spokes. Captain Allistoun fought
his way up to windward.--"Haul, men! Try to move it! Haul, and help the
ship." His hard face worked suffused and furious. "Is she going off,
Singleton?" he cried.--"Not a move yet, sir," croaked the old seaman in
a horribly hoarse voice.--"Watch the helm, Singleton," spluttered the
master. "Haul, men! Have you no more strength than rats? Haul, and earn
your salt." Mr. Creigh-ton, on his back, with a swollen leg and a
face as white as a piece of paper, blinked his eyes; his bluish lips
twitched. In the wild scramble men grabbed at him, crawled over his
hurt leg, knelt on his chest. He kept perfectly still, setting his teeth
without a moan, without a sigh. The master's ardour, the cries of that
silent man inspired us. We hauled and hung in bunches on the rope. We
heard him say with violence to Donkin, who sprawled abjectly on his
stomach,--"I will brain you with this belaying pin if you don't catch
hold of the brace," and that victim of men's injustice, cowardly and
cheeky, whimpered:--"Are you goin' to murder us now?" while with sudden
desperation he gripped the rope. Men sighed, shouted, hissed meaningless
words, groaned. The yards moved, came slowly square against the
wind, that hummed loudly on the yard-arms.--"Going off, sir," shouted
Singleton, "she's just started."--"Catch a turn with that brace. Catch a
turn!" clamoured the master. Mr. Creighton, nearly suffocated and unable
to move, made a mighty effort, and with his left hand managed to nip the
rope.

--"All fast!" cried some one. He closed his eyes as if going off into
a swoon, while huddled together about the brace we watched with scared
looks what the ship would do now.

She went off slowly as though she had been weary and disheartened like
the men she carried. She paid off very gradually, making us hold our
breath till we choked, and as soon as she had brought the wind abaft the
beam she started to move, and fluttered our hearts. It was awful to see
her, nearly overturned, begin to gather way and drag her submerged side
through the water. The dead-eyes of the rigging churned the breaking
seas. The lower half of the deck was full of mad whirlpools and eddies;
and the long line of the lee rail could be seen showing black now and
then in the swirls of a field of foam as dazzling and white as a field
of snow. The wind sang shrilly amongst the spars; and at every slight
lurch we expected her to slip to the bottom sideways from under our
backs. When dead before it she made the first distinct attempt to stand
up, and we encouraged her with a feeble and discordant howl. A great sea
came running up aft and hung for a moment over us with a curling top;
then crashed down under the counter and spread out on both sides into
a great sheet of bursting froth. Above its fierce hiss we heard
Singleton's croak:--"She is steering!" He had both his feet now
planted firmly on the grating, and the wheel spun fast as he eased the
helm.--"Bring the wind on the port quarter and steady her!" called out
the master, staggering to his feet, the first man up from amongst our
prostrate heap. One or two screamed with excitement:--"She rises!" Far
away forward, Mr. Baker and three others were seen erect and black on
the clear sky, lifting their arms, and with open mouths as though they
had been shouting all together. The ship trembled, trying to lift her
side, lurched back, seemed to give up with a nerveless dip, and suddenly
with an unexpected jerk swung violently to windward, as though she had
torn herself out from a deadly grasp. The whole immense volume of water,
lifted by her deck, was thrown bodily across to starboard. Loud cracks
were heard. Iron ports breaking open thundered with ringing blows. The
water topped over the starboard rail with the rush of a river falling
over a dam. The sea on deck, and the seas on every side of her, mingled
together in a deafening roar. She rolled violently. We got up and were
helplessly run or flung about from side to side. Men, rolling over and
over, yelled,--"The house will go!"--"She clears herself!" Lifted by a
towering sea she ran along with it for a moment, spouting thick streams
of water through every opening of her wounded sides. The lee braces
having been carried away or washed off the pins, all the ponderous yards
on the fore swung from side to side and with appalling rapidity at every
roll. The men forward were seen crouching here and there with fearful
glances upwards at the enormous spars that whirled about over their
heads. The torn canvas and the ends of broken gear streamed in the
wind like wisps of hair. Through the clear sunshine, over the flashing
turmoil and uproar of the seas, the ship ran blindly, dishevelled
and headlong, as if fleeing for her life; and on the poop we spun, we
tottered about, distracted and noisy. We all spoke at once in a thin
babble; we had the aspect of invalids and the gestures of maniacs. Eyes
shone, large and haggard, in smiling, meagre faces that seemed to have
been dusted over with powdered chalk. We stamped, clapped our hands,
feeling ready to jump and do anything; but in reality hardly able to
keep on our feet.

Captain Allistoun, hard and slim, gesticulated madly from the poop at
Mr. Baker: "Steady these fore-yards! Steady them the best you can!" On
the main deck, men excited by his cries, splashed, dashing aimlessly,
here and there with the foam swirling up to their waists. Apart, far
aft, and alone by the helm, old Singleton had deliberately tucked his
white beard under the top button of his glistening coat. Swaying upon
the din and tumult of the seas, with the whole battered length of the
ship launched forward in a rolling rush before his steady old eyes, he
stood rigidly still, forgotten by all, and with an attentive face. In
front of his erect figure only the two arms moved crosswise with a swift
and sudden readiness, to check or urge again the rapid stir of circling
spokes. He steered with care.

Joseph Conrad

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