"Ay, ay, sir. Will I light the lamp for you?"
"Of course not." That was another trick to catch him out: no officer dressed by lamplight for a night watch, or he would be ten minutes getting his vision back when he went on deck. Time was getting on; he must hurry if he was going to drink the cocoa. Throwing off the blankets, he swung his feet to the deck — and sprawled heavily headlong on his face, jarring the chest and knocking hot fatty cocoa over his scattered belongings. What had been a fairly level floor when he turned in was at that moment a steep downhill slope. With a creak from the very bones, it seemed, of the ship, the slope changed back, and apprentice, cocoa-mug and a small swill of water went skidding back against the bunk.
"Och, dear, dear," said the delighted seaman. "She's got a wee bit roll on her. Now will I get you another cup of cocoa, sir?"
Jim fought down, as well as he could, his shame and rage; the calm words, "No, carry on," came from a scarlet face, but luckily it was too dark for the man to see that.
Left alone, Jim dragged out of his chest his heaviest fear nought trousers and watch-coat. Staggering, hopping and bouncing heavily round the stuffy cabin, he struggled with awkward haste with stiff new cloth and tightly-sewn buttons. Sweating with effort and hurry, he topped all this with crackling new oilskins which stood stiffly out from his trunk until bound in with spun-yarn. Then he was ready for the dark and the snow and the wind. Those first faint stirrings of nervousness had changed to quick jumps and leaps happening inside a strangely weak and empty belly, and there was a queer sour taste in his mouth.
It was the continuous roar of the seas which struck him first as he fought his way outside — it was louder than the whine of the wind and more numbing than the cold. Sardis was now pointing her stern into the wind and tearing headlong before it; as he made his way aft, he saw how parallel lines of white foam were slowly overtaking the ship. Every few seconds a new foam-streaked crest towered over the taffrail, and seemed about to thunder down on it; every time, at the last minute, the stern rose to meet it, and the thin rope and the little brass wheel seemed for a spUt second to grow from the foam, until the sea went slopping and slithering along the ship's length, at first leaving the stern stuck high over the trough of the wave. Then, as the wave thundered clear of the bow, another was already rearing astern.
Jim gripped the rail and watched for a minute, enjoying his fear and the crazy motion. Then he heard a step on the companion-way, and knew that his hero and idol, the Second Mate, Mr Brodie, was on his way to the deck. He thought, as he lurched across the open deck — it's the only good thing that's happened so far — the Second taking me on watch. The Skipper can't be bothered with me, the Mate's too busy and despises me — and the Third — what can you make of him? "Keeping warm inside" —what did that mean, for instance ?
The Second Mate, muffled like himself against the storm, emerged from the companion-way and Jim greeted him eagerly with a salute.
"Well, Robbins, pretty fair start, eh ? Fifty miles in the last watch, I know." He couldn't have said anything to make Jim admire him more. This filthy screaming northerly that had by now laid all the emigrants out, half-dead from cold, fear and sickness — he was glad of it! Like any deep-sea man he was glad of any wind which would sweep them through all the narrow seas into the open ocean. "Get some cocoa, laddie ? Nothing like it to warm you on a cold night."
"Yes, sir. Jolly good." Well, you couldn't tell him about a ridiculous upset like that! Now the two were approaching the hunched back of the Third Mate, and a cold twinge of alarm went through Jim: they were almost upon him, and yet he hadn't moved. Was he deaf, or . . . no, he couldn't surely be asleep? Asleep? An officer on watch ? He turned nervously to look at Brodie's face, but it revealed nothing. Then a strange thing happened: Brodie, the seasoned seaman, stumbled clumsily, shouldering against the Third Mate, who started suddenly at the blow.
"Good Lord, I'm sorry, Mr MacDougall — stupid of me!"
"Och, it's you, Mr Brodie. I couldn't hear you for this damned banshee howling." The old man had turned now, blinking and grinning cheerfully. That odd twinge went through Jim again; something was wrong — nobody could be so deaf, or grin like that in this weather. There was a sickly, sweet smell in the air that seemed to come from him; and then there was the seaman's odd remark about "keeping the cold out". The truth hit Jim like a hammer: MacDougall was drunk on watch, and had been asleep or dozing! Brodie's stumble had been his gentlemanly way of pretending not to know, of saving the old man's face.
The two men chatted briefly and technically, to give the new watch-keeper on deck time to accustom himself to the dark and the motion.
"How's she running, mister?"
"Och, pretty good. Forty-six miles in my watch, under tops'ls. That's good going for a steam-kettle, I'm thinking."
"Should have thought she'd have done more. Any sign of it clearing to windward?"
"Black as the pit o' hell, mister. Thick snow and not a star to be seen. We'll be about off Blyth, though, by the log. Old Man says call him if it clears, or blows any harder. Course south-east by south. Have you got the weight now, mister! I'll be away to my dear old bunk."
"Ay, ay, got the weight. Course south-east by south. Keep an eye open here, Robbins, while I have a look at the chart." Brodie clattered down to the chart-room, and the red, wrinkled, cheerful face of the old man came near to Jim's, bringing the warm sweet reek of the whisky more strongly to his nose: "That's a smart feller, laddie. You couldn't have a better to teach you this game. Ah well, I'll be away now. Weather eye open, laddie, weather eye open." And the small hunched figure was shambling slowly away.
Jim stared without seeing into the whirling flakes ahead, his mind numb with shock. What about all he had read and heard about the seaman's code of duty, his almost sacred regard for his ship and his passengers? How safe had all those poor vomiting wretches below been, hurled down the narrow North Sea at the mercy of a drunkard? What if they'd met an oncoming steamer? How could he be so vile, and how could Jim look him in the face again? Above all, how could Brodie — the devoted seaman Brodie — bear to eat and talk with him?
"Robbins!" The shout sounded close in his ear. "What the devil's the matter with you, boy — day-dreaming? Had to call you three times. Get my glass from the cabin — clean forgot it."
"Ay, ay, sir." Jim sprang into motion at the sight of the pale stern face looming out of the dark. When he returned with the telescope the Second spoke more kindly, though uneasily: "I expect I can guess what you're thinking. Well, you're an officer, no use pretending to you when all the hands know. Whisky — Demon Whisky at the helm. Pretty bad, I expect you think?"
Jim tried to find words in his burning anger. "God, sir, he was asleep — I'll swear the miserable swine was asleep. Those poor devils asleep below the water-line — they trust us, sir, they trust us with their lives. And that crazy drunk was too far gone to keep his head up."
"Ay, ay, well cool off now. The fellow on the wheel'll hear you. And I shouldn't let you go on like that about a superior."
"Does the Captain know, sir? He can't — he couldn't let him take the deck if he did ?"
"Who knows what the Captain knows ? He's no fool, that's certain."
The apprentice ground his teeth viciously: "In irons, that's where I'd put him — in irons. Let the cook stand his watch."
"You're young; it's hard for you, I know, but you'll find there's queer fish in our profession, queer fish with queer histories. You've got to live and let live a bit, you know; we're not a flight of angels."