“Don’t care damn,” said Wait, with factitious energy. “I can. Go an’ turn in.”
“Swear... in the very jaws!... In the very jaws! Don’t you see the everlasting fire... don’t you feel it? Blind, chockfull 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, wriggling stealthily under his blanket. The cook yelled.... “Your days are numbered!... “ — ”Get out of this,” boomed Wait, 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 Charley, 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 running up, asked: — ”What is it?” Others said: — ”Listen!” The muffled screaming went on: — ”On your knees! On your knees!” — ”Shut 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 where words pattered like hail. — ”No!” shouted Wait. — ”Yes. You are!... No help.... Everybody says so.” — ”You lie!” — ”I see you dying this minnyt... before my eyes... as good as dead already.” — ”Help!” shouted Jimmy, piercingly. — ”Not in this valley.... look upwards,” howled the other. — ”Go away! Murder! Help!” clamoured Jimmy. His voice broke. There were moanings, low mutters, a few sobs.
“What’s the matter now?” said a seldom-heard voice. — ”Fall back, men! Fall back, there!” repeated Mr. Creighton, sternly, pushing through. — ”Here’s the old man,” whispered some. — ”The cook’s in there, sir,” exclaimed several, backing away. The door clattered open; a broad stream of light darted out on wondering faces; a warm whiff of vitiated air passed. The two mates towered head and shoulders above the spare, grey-haired man who stood revealed between them, in shabby clothes, stiff and angular, like a small carved figure, and with a thin, composed face. The cook got up from his knees. Jimmy sat high in the bunk, clasping his drawn-up legs. The tassel of the blue night-cap almost imperceptibly trembled over his knees. They gazed astonished at his long, curved back, while the white corner of one eye 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. Baker, sharply. — ”My duty,” said the cook, with ardour. — ”Your... what?” began the mate. Captain Allistoun touched his arm lightly. — ”I know his caper,” he said, in a low voice. “Come out of that, Podmore,” 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 Allistoun. “Come out at once — or...” — ”I am going,” said the cook, with a hasty and sombre 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 a startled voice. The boatswain led him away by the arm; some one laughed; Jimmy lifted his head for a stealthy glance, and in one unexpected leap sprang 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 Wait, “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 Allistoun watched him with a quiet and penetrating gaze; Belfast ran to his support. He did not appear to be aware of any one near him; he stood silent for a moment, battling single-handed with a legion of nameless terrors, amidst the eager looks of excited men who watched him far off, utterly alone in the impenetrable solitude of his fear. The sea gurgled through the scuppers as the ship heeled over to a short puff of wind.
“Keep him away from me,” said James Wait 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... to-morrow — now if you like — Captain.” Belfast hitched his shoulders to keep him upright.
“No,” said the master, looking at him, fixedly. Under Jimmy’s armpit Belfast’s red face moved uneasily. A row of eyes gleaming stared on the edge of light. They pushed one another with elbows, turned their heads, whispered. Wait let his chin fall on his breast and, with lowered eyelids, looked round in a suspicious manner.
“Why not?” cried a voice from the shadows, “the man’s all right, sir.”
“I am all right,” said Wait, with eagerness. “Been sick... better... turn-to now.” He sighed. — ”Howly Mother!” exclaimed Belfast with a heave of the shoulders, “stand up, Jimmy.” — ”Keep away from me then,” said Wait, giving Belfast a petulant push, and reeling fetched against the doorpost. His cheekbones glistened as though they had been varnished. He snatched off his night-cap, 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, curtly. Bare feet shuffled, disapproving voices murmured all round; 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, hey?”
“I’ve been sick... now — better,” mumbled Wait, glaring in the light. — ”You have been shamming sick,” retorted Captain Allistoun with severity; “Why...” he hesitated for less than half a second. “Why, anybody can see that. There’s 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.”
There were exclamations of surprise, triumph, indignation. The dark group of men swung across the light. “What for?” “Told you so...” “Bloomin’ shame...” — ”We’ve got to say somethink about that,” screeched Donkin from the rear. — ”Never mind, Jim — we will see you righted,” cried several together. An elderly seaman stepped to the front. “D’ye mean to say, sir,” he asked, ominously, “that a sick chap ain’t allowed to get well in this ‘ere hooker?” Behind him Donkin whispered excitedly amongst a staring crowd where no one spared him a glance, but Captain Allistoun shook a forefinger at the angry bronzed face of the speaker. — ”You — you hold your tongue,” he said, warningly. — ”This isn’t the way,” clamoured two or three younger men. — ”Are we bloomin’ masheens?” inquired Donkin in a piercing tone, and dived under the elbows of the front rank. — ”Soon show ‘im we ain’t boys...” — ”The man’s a man if he is black.” — ”We ain’t goin’ to work this bloomin’ ship shorthanded if Snowball’s all right...” — ”He says he is.” — ”Well then, strike, boys, strike!” — ”That’s the bloomin’ ticket.” Captain Allistoun said sharply to the second mate: “Keep quiet, Mr. Creighton,” 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. Somebody slammed the cabin door to with a kick; the darkness full of menacing mutters leaped with a short clatter over the streak of light, and the men became gesticulating shadows that growled, hissed, laughed excit
edly. Mr. Baker whispered: — ”Get away from them, sir.” The big shape of Mr. Creighton hovered silently about the slight figure of the master. — ”We have been hymposed upon all this voyage,” said a gruff voice, “but this ‘ere fancy takes the cake.” — ”That man is a shipmate.” — ”Are we bloomin’ kids?” — ”The port watch will refuse duty.” Charley carried away by his feeling whistled shrilly, then yelped: — ”Giv’ us our Jimmy!” This seemed to cause a 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 yer mouth, youngster — -this is men’s work.” — ”Is it?” muttered Captain Allistoun, bitterly. Mr. Baker grunted: “Ough! They’re gone silly. They’ve been simmering for the last month.” — ”I did notice,” said the master. — ”They have started a row amongst themselves now,” said Mr. Creighton with disdain, “better get aft, sir. We will soothe them. — ”Keep your temper, Creighton,” 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, eddied, 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 their and Jimmy’s wrongs with confused shouts, arguing amongst themselves. They clustered round that moribund 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 all the row, and with difficulty restrained the tears of his facile emotion. James Wait, 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 to-morrow morning — — — take my chance — — — -you fellows must — — — ” mumbled Wait, “I come out to-morrow — — — 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 Wait, enraged and weak; “I don’t want to kill a man, but...” He panted fast like a dog after a run in sunshine. Some one just outside the door shouted, “He’s as fit as any ov us!” Belfast put his hand on the door-handle. — ”Here!” called James Wait, hurriedly, and in such a clear voice that the other spun round with a start. James Wait, 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 Wait. — ”Yes. I noticed you getting better this... last month,” said Belfast, looking down. “Hallo! 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 disputes seemed to be going on all round. He got clear and saw three indistinct figures standing along in the fainter darkness under the arched foot of the mainsail, that rose above their heads like a convex wall of a high edifice. Donkin hissed: — ”Go for them... it’s dark!” The crowd took a short run aft in a body — then there was a check. Donkin, 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 hurtling 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 deadened 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 minute of silence, then a deafening hubbub arose. Above it Archie was heard energetically: — ”If ye do oot ageen I wull tell!” There were shouts. “Don’t!” “Drop it!” — ”We ain’t that kind!” The black cluster of human forms reeled against the bulwark, back again towards the house. Ringbolts rang under stumbling feet. — ”Drop it!” “Let me!” — ”No!” — ”Curse you... hah!” Then sounds as of some one’s face being slapped; a piece of iron fell on the deck; a short scuffle, and some one’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 amidships 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 helmsman, anxious to know what the row was about, had let go the wheel, and, bent double, ran with long, stealthy footsteps to the break of the poop. The Narcissus, left to herself, came up gently in to the wind without any one being aware of it. She gave a slight roll, and the sleeping sails woke suddenly, coming all together with a mighty flap against the masts, then filled again one after another in a quick succession of loud reports that ran down the lofty spars, till the collapsed mainsail flew out last with a violent jerk. The ship trembled from trucks to keel; the sails kept on rattling like a discharge of musketry; the chain sheets and loose shackles jingled aloft in a thin peal; 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 decks to the sense of reality, vigilance, and duty. — ”Helm up!” cried the master, sharply. “Run aft, Mr. Creighton, and see what that fool there is up to.” — ”Flatten in the head sheets. Stand by the weather fore-braces,” growled Mr. Baker. Startled men ran swiftly repeating the orders. The watch below, abandoned all at once by the watch on deck, drifted towards the forecastle in twos and threes, arguing noisily as they went — ”We shall see to-morrow!” cried a loud voice, as if to cover with a menacing hint an inglorious retreat. And then only orders were heard, the falling of heavy coils of rope, the rattling of blocks. Singleton’s white head flitted here and there in the night, high above the deck, like the ghost of a bird. — ”Going off, sir!” shouted Mr. Creighton from aft. — ”Full again.” — ”All right... “ — ”Ease off the head sheets. That will do the braces. Coil the ropes up,” grunted Mr. Baker, bustling about.
Gradually the tramping noises, the confused sound of voices, died out, and the officers, coming together on the poop, discussed the events. Mr. Baker was bewildered and grunted; Mr. Creighton was calmly furious; but Captain Allistoun was composed and thoughtful. He listened to Mr. Baker’s growling argumentation, to Creighton’s interjected and severe remarks, while looking down on the deck he weighed in his hand the iron belayingpin — that a moment ago had just missed his head — as if it had been the only tangible fact of the whole transaction. He was one of those commanders who speak little, seem to hear nothing, look at no one — and know everything, hear every whisper, see every fleeting shadow of their ship’s life. His two big officers towered above his lean, short figure; they talked over his head; they were dismayed, surprised, and angry, while between them the little quiet man seemed to have found his taciturn serenity in the profound depths of a larger experience. Lights were burning in the forecastle; 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 peace of the sea, had left behind and for ever the foolish noise of turbulent mankind. But it was renewed again and again. Gesticulating arms, profiles of head
s with open mouths appeared for a moment in the illuminated squares of doorways; black fists darted — withdrew... “Yes. It was most damnable to have such an unprovoked row sprung on one,” assented the master. ... A tumult of yells rose in the light, abruptly ceased.... He didn’t think there would be any further trouble just then.... A bell was struck aft, another, forward, answered in a deeper tone, and the clamour of ringing metal spread round the ship in a circle of wide 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 too sometimes — downright, horned devils. Pah! This — . nothing. A miss as good as a mile.... The wheel was being relieved in the usual way. — ”Full and by,” said, very loud, the man going off. — ”Full and by,” repeated the other, catching hold of the spokes. — ”This head wind is my trouble,” exclaimed the master, stamping his foot in sudden anger; “head wind! all the rest is nothing.” He was calm again in a moment. “Keep them on the move to-night, gentlemen; just to let them feel we’ve got hold all the time — quietly, you know. Mind you keep your hands off them, Creighton. To-morrow I will talk to them like a Dutch Uncle. A crazy crowd of tinkers! Yes, tinkers! I could count the real sailors amongst them on the fingers of one hand. Nothing will do but a row — if — you — please.” He paused. “Did you think I had gone wrong there, Mr. Baker?” He tapped his 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 you 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.... H’m! Stand to it now — of course.” He stuck the belaying-pin in his pocket, seemed ashamed of himself, then sharply: — ”If you see Podmore at his tricks again tell him I will have him put under the pump. Had to do it once before. The fellow breaks out like that now and then. Good cook tho’.” He walked away quickly, came back to the companion. The two mates followed him through the starlight with amazed eyes. He went down three steps, and changing his tone, spoke with his head near the deck: — ”I shan’t turn in to-night, in case of anything; just call out if... Did you see the eyes of that sick nigger, Mr. Baker? I fancied he begged me for something. What? Past all help. One lone black beggar amongst the lot of us, and he seemed to look through me into the very hell. Fancy, this wretched Podmore! Well, let him die in peace. I am master here after all. Let him be. He might have been half a man once... Keep a good look-out.” He disappeared down below, leaving his mates facing one another, and more impressed than if they had seen a stone image shed a miraculous tear of compassion over the incertitudes of life and death....
Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated) Page 62