ck we perceived the steward, a prey to a sort of sacred horror,
holding up before us the captain's trousers.

Bronzed men with brooms and buckets in their hands stood about with open
mouths. "I have found them lying in the passage outside the captain's
door," the steward declared faintly. The additional statement that the
captain's watch was gone from its hook by the bedside raised the painful
sensation to the highest pitch. We knew then we had a thief amongst us.
Our thief! Behold the solidarity of a ship's company. He couldn't be to
us like any other thief. We all had to live under the shadow of his
crime for days; but the police kept on investigating, and one morning a
young woman appeared on board swinging a parasol, attended by two
policemen, and identified the culprit. She was a barmaid of some bar
near the Circular Quay, and knew really nothing of our man except that he
looked like a respectable sailor. She had seen him only twice in her
life. On the second occasion he begged her nicely as a great favour to
take care for him of a small solidly tied-up paper parcel for a day or
two. But he never came near her again. At the end of three weeks she
opened it, and, of course, seeing the contents, was much alarmed, and
went to the nearest police-station for advice. The police took her at
once on board our ship, where all hands were mustered on the quarterdeck.
She stared wildly at all our faces, pointed suddenly a finger with a
shriek, "That's the man," and incontinently went off into a fit of
hysterics in front of thirty-six seamen. I must say that never in my
life did I see a ship's company look so frightened. Yes, in this tale of
guilt, there was a curious absence of mere criminality, and a touch of
that fantasy which is often a part of a seaman's character. It wasn't
greed that moved him, I think. It was something much less simple:
boredom, perhaps, or a bet, or the pleasure of defiance.

And now for the point of view. It was given to me by a short,
black-bearded A.B. of the crew, who on sea passages washed my flannel
shirts, mended my clothes and, generally, looked after my room. He was
an excellent needleman and washerman, and a very good sailor. Standing
in this peculiar relation to me, he considered himself privileged to open
his mind on the matter one evening when he brought back to my cabin three
clean and neatly folded shirts. He was profoundly pained. He said:
"What a ship's company! N