The After House

With the disappearance of Schwartz, the Ella was short-handed: I

believe Captain Richardson made an attempt to secure me to take the

place of Burns, now moved up into Schwartz's position. But the

attempt met with a surly refusal from Turner.

The crew was plainly nervous and irritable. Sailors are

simple-minded men, as a rule; their mental processes are elemental.

They began to mutter that the devil-ship of the Turner line was at

her tricks again.

That afternoon, going into the forecastle for some of my clothing,

I found a curious group. Gathered about the table were Tom, the

mulatto cook, a Swede named Oleson, Adams, and Burns of the crew.

At the head of the table Charlie Jones was reading the service for

the burial of the dead at sea. The men were standing, bareheaded.

I took off my cap and stood, just inside the door, until the simple

service was over. I was strongly moved.

Schwartz disappeared in the early morning of August 9. And now I

come, not without misgiving, to the night of August 12. I am

wondering if, after all, I have made clear the picture that is before

my eyes: the languid cruise, the slight relaxation of discipline, due

to the leisure of a pleasure voyage, the Ella again rolling gently,

with hardly a dash of spray to show that she was moving, the sun

beating down on her white decks and white canvas, on the three women

in summer attire, on unending-bridge, with its accompaniment of tall

glasses filled with ice, on Turner's morose face and Vail's watchful

one. In the forecastle, much gossip and not a little fear, and in

the forward house, where Captain Richardson and Singleton had their

quarters, veiled hostility and sullen silence.

August 11 was Tuesday, a hot August day, with only enough air going

to keep our sails filled. At five o'clock I served afternoon tea,

and shortly after I went to Williams's cabin in the forward house to

dress the wound in his head, a long cut, which was now healing. I

passed the captain's cabin, and heard him quarreling with the first

mate, who was replying, now and then, sullenly. Only the tones of

their voices reached me.

When I had finished with Williams, and was returning, the quarrel

was still going on. Their voices ceased as I passed the door, and

there was a crash, as of a chair violently overturned. The next bit

I heard.

"Put that down!" the captain roared.

I listened, uncertain whether to break in or not. The next moment,

Singleton opened the door and saw me. I went on as if I had heard

nothing.

Beyond that, the day was much as other days. Turner ate no dinner

that night. He was pale, and twitching; even with my small

experience, I knew he was on the verge of delirium tremens. He did

not play cards, and spent much of the evening wandering restlessly

about on deck. Mrs. Turner retired early. Mrs. Johns played

accompaniments for Vail to sing to, in the chart-room, until

something after eleven, when they, too, went to their rooms.