ing buildings; but on the other side of the harbour sombre
hills arched high their black spines, on which, here and there, the
point of a star resembled a spark fallen from the sky. Far off, Byculla
way, the electric lamps at the dock gates shone on the end of lofty
standards with a glow blinding and frigid like captive ghosts of some
evil moons. Scattered all over the dark polish of the roadstead, the
ships at anchor floated in perfect stillness under the feeble gleam
of their riding-lights, looming up, opaque and bulky, like strange and
monumental structures abandoned by men to an everlasting repose.

Before the cabin door Mr. Baker was mustering the crew. As they stumbled
and lurched along past the mainmast, they could see aft his round, broad
face with a white paper before it, and beside his shoulder the sleepy
head, writh dropped eyelids, of the boy, who held, suspended at the end
of his raised arm, the luminous globe of a lamp. Even before the shuffle
of naked soles had ceased along the decks, the mate began to call
over the names. He called distinctly in a serious tone befitting this
roll-call to unquiet loneliness, to inglorious and obscure struggle, or
to the more trying endurance of small privations and wearisome duties.
As the chief mate read out a name, one of the men would answer: "Yes,
sir!" or "Here!" and, detaching himself from the shadowy mob of
heads visible above the blackness of starboard bulwarks, would step
bare-footed into the circle of light, and in two noiseless strides pass
into the shadows on the port side of the quarterdeck. They answered in
divers tones: in thick mutters, in clear, ringing voices; and some,
as if the whole thing had been an outrage on their feelings, used an
injured intonation: for discipline is not ceremonious in merchant ships,
where the sense of hierarchy is weak, and where all feel themselves
equal before the unconcerned immensity of the sea and the
exacting appeal of the work. Mr. Baker read on
steadily:--"Hansen--Campbell--Smith--Wamibo. Now, then, Wamibo. Why don't
you answer? Always got to call your name twice." The Finn emitted at
last an uncouth grunt, and, stepping out, passed through the patch of
light, weird and gaudy, with the face of a man marching through a
dream. The mate went on faster:--"Craik--Singleton--Donkin.... O Lord!" he
involuntarily ejaculated as the incredibly dilapidated figure appeared
in the light. It stopped; it uncovered pale gums and long, u