They answered in
divers tones: in thick mutters, in clear, ringing voices; and some,
as if the whole thing had been an outrage on their feelings, used an
injured intonation: for discipline is not ceremonious in merchant
ships, where the sense of hierarchy is weak, and where all feel
themselves equal before the unconcerned immensity of the
sea and the exacting appeal of the work. Mr. Baker read on
steadily:--"Hansen--Campbell--Smith--Wamibo. Now, then, Wamibo. Why
don't you answer? Always got to call your name twice." The Finn emitted
at last an uncouth grunt, and, stepping out, passed through the patch of
light, weird and gaudy, with the face of a man marching through a dream.
The mate went on faster:--"Craik--Singleton--Donkin.... O Lord!" he
involuntarily ejaculated as the incredibly dilapidated figure appeared
in the light. It stopped; it uncovered pale gums and long, upper teeth
in a malevolent grin.--"Is there any-think wrong with me, Mister Mate?"
it asked, with a flavour of insolence in the forced simplicity of its
tone. On both sides of the deck subdued titters were heard.--"That'll
do. Go over," growled Mr. Baker, fixing the new hand with steady blue
eyes.
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