Between the beams a heavy cloud stagnated; and the lamps surrounded by halos burned each at the core of a purple glow in two lifeless flames without rays. Wreaths drifted in denser wisps. Men sprawled about on the deck, sat in negligent poses, or, bending a knee, drooped with one shoulder against a bulkhead. Lips moved, eyes flashed, waving arms made sudden eddies in the smoke. The murmur of voices seemed to pile itself higher and higher as if unable to run out quick enough through the narrow doors. The watch below in their shirts, and striding on long white legs resembled raving somnambulists; while now and then one of the watch on deck would rush in, looking strangely over-dressed, listen a moment, fling a rapid sentence into the noise and run out again; but a few remained near the door, fascinated, and with one ear turned to the deck. -- ‘Stick together, boys,’roared Davis. Belfast tried to make himself heard. Knowles grinned in a slow, dazed way. A short fellow with a thick clipped beard kept on yelling periodically: -- ‘Who's afeard? Who's afeard?’ Another one jumped up, excited, with blazing eyes, sent out a sting of unattached curses and sat down quietly. Two men discussed familiarly, striking one another's breast in turn, to clinch arguments. Three others, with their heads in a bunch, spoke all together with a confidential air, and at the top of their voices. It was a stormy chaos of speech where intelligible fragments tossing, struck the ear. One could hear: -- ‘In the last ship’ -- ‘Who cares? Try it on any one of us if -- .’ ‘Knock under’ -- ‘Not a hand's turn’ -- ‘He says he is all right’ -- ‘Ialways thought’ -- ‘Never mind.....’ Donkin, crouching Page 95all in a heap against the bowsprit, hunched his shoulder-blades as high as his ears, and hanging a peaked nose, resembled a sick vulture with ruffled plumes. Belfast, straddling his legs, had a face red with yelling, and with arms thrown up, figured a Maltese cross. The two Scandinavians, in a corner, had the dumbfounded and distracted aspect of men gazing at a cataclysm. And, beyond the light, Singleton stood in the smoke, monumental, indistinct, with his head touching the beam; like a statue of heroic size in the gloom of a crypt.
He stepped forward, impassive and big. The noise subsided like a broken wave: but Belfast cried once more with uplifted arms: --‘The man is dying I tell ye!’ then sat down suddenly on the hatch and took his head between his hands. All looked at Singleton, gazing upwards from the deck staring out of dark corners, or turning their heads with curious glances. They were expectant and appeased as if that old man, who looked at no one, had possessed the secret of their uneasy indignations and desires, a sharper vision, a clearer knowledge. And indeed standing there amongst them, he had the uninterested appearance of one who had seen multitudes of ships, had listened many times to voices such as theirs, had already seen all that could happen on the wide seas. They heard his voice rumble in his broad chest as though the words had been rolling towards them out of a rugged past. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked. No one answered. Only Knowles muttered -- ‘Aye, aye,’ and somebody said low: -- ‘It's a bloomin' shame.’He waited made a contemptuous gesture. -- ‘I have seen rows aboard ship before some of you were born,’ he said slowly, ‘for something or nothing; but never for such a thing. -- ’ ‘The man is dying, I tell ye,’ repeated Belfast woefully, sitting at Singleton's feet. -- ‘And a black fellow, too,’went on the old seaman, ‘I have seen them die like flies.’He stopped, thoughtful, as if trying to recollect gruesome things, details of horrors, hecatombs of niggers. They looked at him fascinated. He was old enough to remember slavers, bloody mutinies, pirates perhaps; who could tell through what violences and terrors he had lived! What would he say?
He said: -- ‘You can't help him; die he must.’ He made another pause. His moustache and beard stirred. He chewed words, mumbled behind white hairs; incomprehensible and exciting, like an Page 96oracle behind a veil..... -- ‘Stop ashore -- sick. -- Instead -- bringing all this head wind. Afraid. The sea will have her own. -- Die in the sight of land. Always so. They know it -- long passage -- more days, more dollars. -- you keep quiet. -- What do you want? Can't help him.’He seemed to wake up from a dream. ‘You can't help your selves,’he said austerely, ‘Skipper's no fool. He has something in his mind. Look out -- I say! I know 'em!’ With eyes fixed in front he turned his head from right to left, from left to right, as if inspecting a long row of astute skippers. -- ‘He said 'e would brain me!’cried Donkin in a heartrending tone. Singleton peered downwards with puzzled attention, as though he couldn't find him. -- ‘Damn you!’he said vaguely, giving it up. He radiated unspeakable wisdom, hard unconcern, the chilling air of resignation. Round him all the listeners felt themselves somehow completely enlightened by their disappointment, and, mute, they lolled about with the careless ease of men who can discern perfectly the irremediable aspect of their existence. He, profound and unconscious, waved his arm once, and strode out on deck without another word.
