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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

"And I don't now," continued the
master; "but I am here to drive this ship and keep every man-jack aboard
of her up to the mark. If you knew your work as well as I do mine,
there would be no trouble. You've been braying in the dark about 'See
to-morrow morning!' Well, you see me now. What do you want?" He waited,
stepping quickly to and fro, giving them searching glances. What did
they want? They shifted from foot to foot, they balanced their bodies;
some, pushing back their caps, scratched their heads. What did they
want? Jimmy was forgotten; no one thought of him, alone forward in
his cabin, fighting great shadows, clinging to brazen lies, chuckling
painfully over his transparent deceptions. No, not Jimmy; he was more
forgotten than if he had been dead. They wanted great things. And
suddenly all the simple words they knew seemed to be lost for ever in
the immensity of their vague and burning desire. They knew what they
wanted, but they could not find anything worth saying. They stirred on
one spot, swinging, at the end of muscular arms, big tarry hands with
crooked fingers. A murmur died out.--"What is it--food?" asked the
master, "you know the stores have been spoiled off the Cape.


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