The After House

Singleton stood up, with a sort of swagger. He wes less intoxicated

than Turner, but ugly enough. He faced the captain with a leer.

"Sorry, old fellow," he said, "but you heard what Turner said!"

The captain drew a deep breath. Then, without any warning, he leaned

across the table and shot out his clenched fist. It took the mate on

the point of the chin, and he folded up in a heap on the floor.

"Good old boy!" muttered Burns, beside me. "Good old boy!"

Turner picked up a bottle from the table, and made the same

incoordinate pass with it at the captain as he had at me the morning

before with his magazine. The captain did not move. He was a big

man, and he folded his arms with their hairy wrists across his chest.

"Mr. Turner," he said, "while we are on the sea I am in command here.

You know that well enough. You are drunk to-night; in the morning

you will be sober; and I want you to remember what I am going to say.

If you interfere again--with--me--or--my officers--I--shall--

put--you--in--irons."

He started for the after companionway, and Burns and I hurried

forward out of his way, Burns to the lookout, I to make the round

of the after house and bring up, safe from detection, by the wheel

again. The mate was in a chair, looking sick and dazed, and Turner

and Vail were confronting each other.

"You know that is a lie," Vail was saying. "She is faithful to you,

as far as I know, although I'm damned if I know why." He turned to

the mate roughly: "Better get out in the air."

Once again I left my window to avoid discovery. The mate, walking

slowly, made his way up the companionway to the rail. The man at

the wheel reported in the forecastle, when he came down at the end

of his watch, that Singleton had seemed dazed, and had stood leaning

against the rail for some time, occasionally cursing to himself;

that the second mate had come on deck, and had sent him to bed; and

that the captain was shut in his cabin with the light going.

There was much discussion of the incident among the crew. Sympathy

was with the captain, and there was a general feeling that the end

had not come. Charlie Jones, reading his Bible on the edge of his

bunk, voiced the general belief.

"Knowin' the Turners, hull and mast," he said, "and having sailed

with Captain Richardson off and on for ten years, the chances is

good of our having a hell of a time. It ain't natural, anyhow,

this voyage with no rats in the hold, and all the insects killed

with this here formaldehyde, and ice-cream sent to the fo'c'sle

on Sundays!"