In the evening the cleared decks had a reposeful aspect, resembling the
autumn of the earth. The sun was sinking to rest, wrapped in a mantle of
warm clouds. Forward, on the end of the spare spars, the boatswain
and the carpenter sat together with crossed arms; two men friendly,
powerful, and deep-chested. Beside them the short, dumpy sailmaker--who
had been in the Navy--related, between the whiffs of his pipe,
impossible stories about Admirals. Couples tramped backwards and
forwards, keeping step and balance without effort, in a confined space.
Pigs grunted in the big pigstye. Belfast, leaning thoughtfully on his
elbow, above the bars, communed with them through the silence of his
meditation. Fellows with shirts open wide on sunburnt breasts sat upon
the mooring bits, and all up the steps of the forecastle ladders. By the
foremast a few discussed in a circle the characteristics of a gentleman.
One said:--"It's money as does it." Another maintained:--"No, it's the
way they speak." Lame Knowles stumped up with an unwashed face (he had
the distinction of being the dirty man of the forecastle), and showing a
few yellow fangs in a shrewd smile, explained craftily that he "had
seen some of their pants.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65