I continued to stroll up and down beside this massive relic of the past, and to listen to his hints and muttered reminiscences of old man-killing and man-driving days. He was too real to be true, and yet, as I studied his shoulder-stoop and the age-drag of his huge feet, I was convinced that his years were as he asserted. He spoke of a Captain Sonurs.
He was a great captain, he was saying. An in the two years I sailed mate with him there was never a port I didnt jump the ship goin in an stay in hiding until I sneaked aboard when she sailed again.
But why?
The men, on account of the men swearin blood an vengeance and warrants against me because of my ways of teachin them to be sailors. Why, the times I was caught, and the fines the skipper paid for me and yet it was my work that made the ship make money.
He held up his huge paws, and as I stared at the battered, malformed knuckles I understood the nature of his work.
But all thats stopped now, he lamented. A sailors a gentleman these days. You cant raise your voice or your hand to them.
At this moment he was addressed from the poop-rail above by the second mate, a medium-sized, heavily built, clean-shaven, blond man.
The tugs in sight with the crew, sir, he announced.
The mate grunted an acknowledgment, then added, Come on down, Mr. Mellaire, and meet our passenger.
I could not help noting the air and carriage with which Mr. Mellaire came down the poop-ladder and took his part in the introduction. He was courteous in an old-world way, soft-spoken, suave, and unmistakably from south of Mason and Dixon.
A Southerner, I said.
Georgia, sir. He bowed and smiled, as only a Southerner can bow and smile.
His features and expression were genial and gentle, and yet his mouth was the cruellest gash I had ever seen in a mans face. It was a gash. There is no other way of describing that harsh, thin-lipped, shapeless mouth that uttered gracious things so graciously. Involuntarily I glanced at his hands. Like the mates, they were thick-boned, broken-knuckled, and malformed. Back into his blue eyes I looked. On the surface of them was a film of light, a gloss of gentle kindness and cordiality, but behind that gloss I knew resided neither sincerity nor mercy. Behind that gloss was something cold and terrible, that lurked and waited and watched something catlike, something inimical and deadly. Behind that gloss of soft light and of social sparkle was the live, fearful thing that had shaped that mouth into the gash it was. What I sensed behind in those eyes chilled me with its repulsiveness and strangeness.
As I faced Mr. Mellaire, and talked with him, and smiled, and exchanged amenities, I was aware of the feeling that comes to one in the forest or jungle when he knows unseen wild eyes of hunting animals are spying upon him. Frankly I was afraid of the thing ambushed behind there in the skull of Mr. Mellaire. One so as a matter of course identifies form and feature with the spirit within. But I could not do this with the second mate. His face and form and manner and suave ease were one thing, inside which he, an entirely different thing, lay hid.
I noticed Wada standing in the cabin door, evidently waiting to ask for instructions. I nodded, and prepared to follow him inside. Mr. Pike looked at me quickly and said:
Just a moment, Mr. Pathurst.
He gave some orders to the second mate, who turned on his heel and started forard. I stood and waited for Mr. Pikes communication, which he did not choose to make until he saw the second mate well out of ear-shot. Then he leaned closely to me and said:
Dont mention that little matter of my age to anybody. Each year I sign on I sign my age one year younger. I am fifty-four, now, on the articles.
And you dont look a day older, I answered lightly, though I meant it in all sincerity.
And I dont feel it. I can outwork and outgame the huskiest of the younglings. And dont let my age get to anybodys ears, Mr. Pathurst. Skippers are not particular for mates getting around the seventy mark. And owners neither. Ive had my hopes for this ship, and Id a-got her, I think, except for the old man decidin to go to sea again. As if he needed the money! The old skinflint!
Is he well off? I inquired.
Well off! If I had a tenth of his money I could retire on a chicken ranch in California and live like a fighting cock yes, if I had a fiftieth of what hes got salted away. Why, he owns more stock in all the Blackwood ships.. and theyve always been lucky and always earned money. Im getting old, and its about time I got a command. But no; the old cuss has to take it into his head to go to sea again just as the berths ripe for me to fall into.
Again I started to enter the cabin, but was stopped by the mate.
Mr. Pathurst? You wont mention about my age?
No, certainly not, Mr. Pike, I said.
CHAPTER III
Quite chilled through, I was immediately struck by the warm comfort of the cabin. All the connecting doors were open, making what I might call a large suite of rooms or a whale house. The main-deck entrance, on the port side, was into a wide, well-carpeted hallway. Into this hallway, from the port side, opened five rooms: first, on entering, the mates; next, the two state-rooms which had been knocked into one for me; then the stewards room; and, adjoining his, completing the row, a state-room which was used for the slop-chest.
Across the hall was a region with which I was not yet acquainted, though I knew it contained the dining-room, the bath-rooms, the cabin proper, which was in truth a spacious living-room, the captains quarters, and, undoubtedly, Miss Wests quarters. I could hear her humming some air as she bustled about with her unpacking. The stewards pantry, separated by crosshalls and by the stairway leading into the chart-room above on the poop, was placed strategically in the centre of all its operations. Thus, on the starboard side of it were the state-rooms of the captain and Miss West, forard of it were the dining-room and main cabin; while on the port side of it was the row of rooms I have described, two of which were mine.
I ventured down the hall toward the stern, and found it opened into the stern of the Elsinore, forming a single large apartment at least thirty-five feet from side to side and fifteen to eighteen feet in depth, curved, of course, to the lines of the ships stern. This seemed a store-room. I noted wash-tubs, bolts of canvas, many lockers, hams and bacon hanging, a step-ladder that led up through a small hatch to the poop, and, in the floor, another hatch.
I spoke to the steward, an old Chinese, smooth-faced and brisk of movement, whose name I never learned, but whose age on the articles was fifty-six.
What is down there? I asked, pointing to the hatch in the floor.
Him lazarette, he answered.
And who eats there? I indicated a table with two stationary sea-chairs.
Him second table. Second mate and carpenter him eat that table.
When I had finished giving instructions to Wada for the arranging of my things I looked at my watch. It was early yet, only several minutes after three so I went on deck again to witness the arrival of the crew.
The actual coming on board from the tug I had missed, but forard of the amidship house I encountered a few laggards who had not yet gone into the forecastle. These were the worse for liquor, and a more wretched, miserable, disgusting group of men I had never seen in any slum. Their clothes were rags. Their faces were bloated, bloody, and dirty. I wont say they were villainous. They were merely filthy and vile. They were vile of appearance, of speech, and action.