There were cries of joy over old waistcoats, and groans of sorrow over shapeless things found amongst the black splinters of smashed bed boards.
One lamp was discovered jammed under the bowsprit, Charley whimpered a little. Knowles stumped here and there, sniffing, examining dark places for salvage. He poured dirty water out of a boot, and was concerned to find the owner. Those who, overwhelmed by their losses, sat on the forepeak hatch, remained elbows on knees, and, with a fist against each cheek, disdained to look up. He pushed it under their noses. ‘Here's a good boot.
Yours?’ They snarled, ‘No -- get out.’ One snapped at him, ‘Take it the hell out of this.’ He seemed surprised. ‘Why? It's a good boot,’ but remembering suddenly that he had lost every stitch of his clothing, he dropped his find and began to swear. In the dim light cursing voices clashed. A man came in and, dropping his arms, stood still, repeating from the doorstep, ‘Here's a bloomin' old go! Here's a bloomin' old go!’A few rooted anxiously in flooded chests for tobacco. They breathed hard, clamoured with heads down, ‘Look at that, Jack!’....‘Here!
Sam! Here's my shore-going rig spoilt for ever.’ One blasphemed tearfully holding up a pair of dripping trousers. No one looked at him.
The cat came out from somewhere. He had an ovation. They snatched him from hand to hand, caressed him in a murmur of pet names. They wondered where he had ‘weathered it out;’ disputed about it. A squabbling argument began. Two men came in with a bucket of fresh water, and all crowded round it; but Tom, lean and mewing, came up with every hair astir and had the first drink. A couple of men went aft for oil and biscuits.
Then in the yellow light and in the intervals of mopping the deck they crunched hard bread, arranging to ‘worry through somehow.’ Men chummed as to beds. Turns were settled for wearing boots and having the use of oilskin coats. They called one another ‘old man’ and ‘sonny’ in cheery voices. Friendly slaps resounded. Jokes were shouted. One or two stretched on the wet deck, slept with heads pillowed on their bent arms, and several, sitting on the hatch, smoked. Their weary faces appeared through a thin blue haze, pacified and with sparkling eyes. The boatswain put his head through the door. ‘Relieve the wheel. one of you’ -- he shouted inside -- ‘it's six. Blamme if that old Singleton hasn't been Page 71there more'n thirty hours. You are a fine lot.’ He slammed the door again. ‘Mate's watch on deck,’ said some one.
‘Hey, Donkin, it's your relief!’ shouted three or four together. He had crawled into an empty bunk and on wet planks lay still.
‘Donkin, your wheel.’ He made no sound. ‘Donkin's dead,’ guffawed some one. ‘Sell 'is bloomin' clothes,’shouted another. ‘Donkin, ifye don't go to the bloomin' wheel they will sell your clothes -- d'ye hear?’ jeered a third. He groaned from his dark hole. He complained about pains in all his bones, he whimpered pitifully. ‘He won't go,’ exclaimed a contemptuous voice, ‘your turn, Davies.’ The young seaman rose painfully squaring his shoulders. Donkin stuck his head out, and it appeared in the yellow light, fragile and ghastly. ‘Iwill giv' yer a pound of tobaccer,’ he whined in a conciliating voice, ‘so soon as I can draw it from haft. I will‘Iwill -- s'help me.....’ Davies swung his arm backhanded and the head vanished. ‘I'll go, he said, but you will pay for it.’He walked unsteady but resolute in the door. ‘So I will,’yelped Donkin, popping out behind him. ‘So I will -- s'elp me....three bob they chawrge.’ ‘You will pay my price....in fine weather.’ he shouted over his shoulder. One of the men unbuttoned his wet coat rapidly, threw it at his head. ‘Here, Taffy -- take that, you thief!’ ‘Thank you!’ he cried from the darkness above the swish of rolling water. He could be heard splashing;a sea came on board with a thump. ‘He's got his bath already,’remarked a grim shellback. ‘Aye, aye!’ grunted the others. Then, after a long silence, Wamibo made strange noises. ‘Hallo, what's up with you?’ said one grumpily. ‘He says he would have gone for Davy,’ explained Archie, who was the Finn's interpreter generally. ‘I believe him!’ cried voices....‘Never mind, Dutchy.... You'll do, muddle-head....Your turn will come soon enough....
You don't know when ye're well off.’ They ceased, and all together turned their faces to the door. Singleton stepped in, made two paces, and stood swaying slightly. The sea hissed, flowed roaring past the bows, and the forecastle trembled, full of a deep rumour; the lamp flared, swinging like a pendulum. He looked with a dreamy and puzzled stare, as though he could not distinguish the still men from their restless shadows. There were awe-struck murmurs: -- ‘Hallo, hallo’....‘How does it look outside now, Singleton?’ Those who sat Page 72on the hatch lifted their eyes in silence, and the next oldest seaman in the ship (those two understood one another, though they hardly exchanged three words in a day) gazed up at his friend attentively for a moment, then taking a short clay pipe out of his mouth, offered it without a word.
