in "didn't want to 'ave no truck with 'em dirty furriners." When
Nilsen came to him with the news: "Singleton says he will die," he
answered him by a spiteful "And so will you--you fat-headed Dutchman.
Wish you Dutchmen were all dead--'stead comin' takin' our money inter
your starvin' country." We were appalled. We perceived that after all
Singleton's answer meant nothing. We began to hate him for making fun
of us. All our certitudes were going; we were on doubtful terms with
our officers; the cook had given us up for lost; we had overheard the
boatswain's opinion that "we were a crowd of softies." We suspected
Jimmy, one another, and even our very selves. We did not know what
to do. At every insignificant turn of our humble life we met Jimmy
overbearing and blocking the way, arm-in-arm with his awful and veiled
familiar. It was a weird servitude.

It began a week after leaving Bombay and came on us stealthily like any
other great misfortune. Every one had remarked that Jimmy from the first
was very slack at his work; but we thought it simply the outcome of his
philosophy of life. Donkin said:--"You put no more weight on a rope
than a bloody sparrer." He disdained him. Belfast, ready for a fight,
exclaimed provokingly:--"You don't kill yourself, old man!"--"Would you?"
he retorted with extreme, scorn--and Belfast retired. One morning, as
we were washing decks, Mr. Baker called to him:--"Bring your broom over
here, Wait." He strolled languidly.

"Move yourself! Ough!" grunted Mr. Baker; "what's the matter with your
hind legs?" He stopped dead short. He gazed slowly with eyes that bulged
out with an expression audacious and sad.--"It isn't my legs," he said,
"it's my lungs." Everybody listened.--"What's... Ough!... What's wrong
with them?" inquired Mr. Baker. All the watch stood around on the wet
deck, grinning, and with brooms or buckets in their hands. He said
mournfully:--"Going--or gone. Can't you see I'm a dying man? I know
it!" Mr. Baker was disgusted.--"Then why the devil did you ship aboard
here?"--"I must live till I die--mustn't I?" he replied. The grins became
audible.--"Go off my deck--get out of my sight," said Mr. Baker. He was
nonplussed. It was a unique experience. James Wait, obedient, dropped
his broom, and walked slowly forward. A burst of laughter followed him.
It was too funny. All hands laughed.... They laughed!... Alas!

He became the tormentor of all our moments; he ''was worse than a
nightmare.