t him. "Here, you East-end trash," boomed Wait,
"you may have that."

At last Mr. Baker had to tell the captain that James Wait was disturbing
the peace of the ship. "Knock discipline on the head--he will, Ough,"
grunted Mr. Baker. As a matter of fact, the starboard watch came as near
as possible to refusing duty, when ordered one morning by the boatswain
to wash out their forecastle. It appears Jimmy objected to a wet
floor--and that morning we were in a compassionate mood. We thought
the boatswain a brute, and, practically, told him so. Only Mr. Baker's
delicate tact prevented an all-fired row: he refused to take us
seriously. He came bustling forward, and called us many unpolite names
but in such a hearty and seamanlike manner that we began to feel ashamed
of ourselves. In truth, we thought him much too good a sailor to annoy
him willingly: and after all Jimmy might have been a fraud--probably
was! The forecastle got a clean up that morning; but in the afternoon
a sick-bay was fitted up in the deck-house. It was a nice little
cabin opening on deck, and with two berths. Jimmy's belongings were
transported there, and then--notwithstanding his protests--Jimmy himself.
He said he couldn't walk. Four men carried him on a blanket. He
complained that he would have to die there alone, like a dog. We grieved
for him, and were delighted to have him removed from the forecastle. We
attended him as before. The galley was next door, and the cook looked in
many times a day. Wait became a little more cheerful. Knowles affirmed
having heard him laugh to himself in peals one day. Others had seen him
walking about on deck at night. His little place, with the door ajar
on a long hook, was always full of tobacco smoke. We spoke through the
crack cheerfully, sometimes abusively, as we passed by, intent on our
work. He fascinated us. He would never let doubt die. He overshadowed
the ship. Invulnerable in his promise of speedy corruption he trampled
on our self-respect, he demonstrated to us daily our want of moral
courage; he tainted our lives. Had we been a miserable gang of wretched
immortals, unhallowed alike by hope and fear, he could not have lorded
it over us with a more pitiless assertion of his sublime privilege.

CHAPTER THREE

Meantime the Narcissus, with square yards, ran out of the fair monsoon.
She drifted slowly, swinging round and round the compass, through a few
days of baffling light airs. Under the patter of sho