e were trying to be decent chaps, and found it jolly difficult; we
oscillated between the desire of virtue and the fear of ridicule; we
wished to save ourselves from the pain of remorse, but did not want
to be made the contemptible dupes of our sentiment. Jimmy's hateful
accomplice seemed to have blown with his impure breath undreamt of
subtleties into our hearts. We were disturbed and cowardly. That we
knew. Singleton seemed to know nothing, understand nothing. We had
thought him till then as wise as he looked, but now we dared, at times,
suspect him of being stupid--from old age. One day, however, at dinner,
as we sat on our boxes round a tin dish that stood on the deck within
the circle of our feet, Jimmy expressed his general disgust with men and
things in words that were particularly disgusting. Singleton lifted his
head. We became mute. The old man, addressing Jimmy, asked:--"Are you
dying?" Thus interrogated, James Wait appeared horribly startled and
confused. We all were startled. Mouths remained open; hearts thumped,
eyes blinked; a dropped tin fork rattled in the dish; a man rose as if
to go out, and stood still. In less than a minute Jimmy pulled himself
together:--"Why? Can't you see I am?" he answered shakily. Singleton
lifted a piece of soaked biscuit ("his teeth"--he declared--"had no edge
on them now") to his lips.--"Well, get on with your dying," he said with
venerable mildness; "don't raise a blamed fuss with us over that job.
We can't help you." Jimmy fell back in his bunk, and for a long time lay
very still wiping the perspiration off his chin. The dinner-tins were
put away quickly. On deck we discussed the incident in whispers. Some
showed a chuckling exultation. Many looked grave. Wamibo, after long
periods of staring dreaminess, attempted abortive smiles; and one of
the young Scandinavians, much tormented by doubt, ventured in the second
dog-watch to approach Singleton (the old man did not encourage us much
to speak to him) and ask sheepishly:--"You think he will die?" Singleton
looked up.--"Why, of course he will die," he said deliberately. This
seemed decisive. It was promptly imparted to every one by him who had
consulted the oracle. Shy and eager, he would step up and with averted
gaze recite his formula:--"Old Singleton says he will die." It was a
relief! At last we knew that our compassion would not be misplaced, and
we could again smile without misgivings--but we reckoned without Donkin.
Donk