keeping
for ever on the run the fundamental imbecility of mankind; he had the
secret of life, that confounded dying man, and he made himself master
of every moment of our existence. We grew desperate, and remained
submissive. Emotional little Belfast was for ever on the verge
of assault or on the verge of tears. One evening he confided to
Archie:--"For a ha'penny I would knock his ugly black head off--the
skulking dodger!" And the straightforward Archie pretended to be
shocked! Such was the infernal spell which that casual St. Kitt's nigger
had cast upon our guileless manhood! But the same night Belfast stole
from the galley the officers' Sunday fruit pie, to tempt the fastidious
appetite of Jimmy. He endangered not only his long friendship with
the cook but also--as it appeared--his eternal welfare. The cook was
overwhelmed with grief; he did not know the culprit but he knew that
wickedness flourished; he knew that Satan was abroad amongst those men,
whom he looked upon as in some way under his spiritual care. Whenever he
saw three or four of us standing together he would leave his stove, to
run out and preach. We fled from him; and only Charley (who knew the
thief) affronted the cook with a candid gaze which irritated the good
man. "It's you, I believe," he groaned, sorrowful and with a patch of
soot on his chin. "It's you. You are a brand for the burning! No more of
your socks in my galley." Soon, unofficially, the information was spread
about that, should there be another case of stealing, our marmalade
(an extra allowance: half a pound per man) would be stopped. Mr.
Baker ceased to heap jocular abuse upon his favourites, and grunted
suspiciously at all. The captain's cold eyes, high up on the poop,
glittered mistrustful, as he surveyed us trooping in a small mob from
halyards to braces for the usual evening pull at all the ropes. Such
stealing in a merchant ship is difficult to check, and may be taken as
a declaration by men of their dislike for their officers. It is a bad
symptom. It may end in God knows what trouble. The Narcissus was still a
peaceful ship, but mutual confidence was shaken. Donkin did not conceal
his delight. We were dismayed.

Then illogical Belfast reproached our nigger with great fury. James
Wait, with his elbow on the pillow, choked, gasped out:--"Did I ask
you to bone the dratted thing? Blow your blamed pie. It has made me
worse--you little Irish lunatic, you!" Belfast, with scarlet face an