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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

Behind his back Donkin would begin again darting stealthy,
sidelong looks.--"'Ere's one of 'em. Some of yer 'as made 'im fast
that day. Much thanks yer got for it. Ain't 'ee a-drivin' yer wusse'n
ever?... Let 'im slip overboard.... Vy not? It would 'ave been less
trouble. Vy not?" He advanced confidentially, backed away with great
effect; he whispered, he screamed, waved his miserable arms no thicker
than pipe-stems--stretched his lean neck--spluttered squinted. In the
pauses of his impassioned orations the wind sighed quietly aloft, the
calm sea unheeded murmured in a warning whisper along the ship's side.
We abominated the creature and could not deny the luminous truth of his
contentions. It was all so obvious. We were indubitably good men; our
deserts were great and our pay small. Through our exertions we had saved
the ship and the skipper would get the credit of it. What had he done?
we wanted to know. Donkin asked:--"What 'ee could do without hus?" and
we could not answer. We were oppressed by the injustice of the world,
surprised to perceive how long we had lived under its burden without
realising our unfortunate state, annoyed by the uneasy suspicion of
our undiscerning stupidity.


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