Suddenly the face of Donkin leaning high-shouldered over the after-rail
became grave. Something like a weak rattle was heard through the
forecastle door. It became a murmur; it ended in a sighing groan. The
washerman plunged both his arms into the tub abruptly; the cook became
more crestfallen than an exposed backslider; the boatswain moved his
shoulders uneasily; the carpenter got up with a spring and walked
away--while the sailmaker seemed mentally to give his story up, and
began to puff at his pipe with sombre determination. In the blackness of
the doorway a pair of eyes glimmered white, and big, and staring. Then
James Wait's head protruding, became visible, as if suspended between
the two hands that grasped a doorpost on each side of the face. The
tassel of his blue woollen nightcap, cocked forward, danced gaily
over his left eyelid. He stepped out in a tottering stride. He looked
powerful as ever, but showed a strange and affected unsteadiness in
his gait; his face was perhaps a trifle thinner, and his eyes appeared
rather startlingly prominent. He seemed to hasten the retreat of
departing light by his very presence; the setting sun dipped sharply,
as though fleeing before our nigger; a black mist emanated from him; a
subtle and dismal influence; a something cold and gloomy that floated
out and settled on all the faces like a mourning veil.
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