Perceval Gibbon

“ Eight bells came at last, signaling the release of the poor watch from the deck and the tension of the officer's presence. The forecastle received them, the stronghold of their brief and limited leisure. The unkempt, weather-stained men, to whom the shifting seas were the sole arena of their lives, sat about on chests and on the edges of the lower bunks, at their breakfast, while the pale sunlight traveled to and fro on the deck as the Villingen lurched in her gait. Conroy, haggard and drawn, let the coffee slop over the brim of his hook-pot as he found himself a seat. ”

“ Its ampler light revealed much that the match-flame had missed from its field—the manner in which the sou'wester and the head it covered were caved in at one side, the cut in the sou'wester through which clotted hair protruded, the whole ghastliness of death that comes by violence. With all that under his eyes, Conroy had to give his account of the affair, while the ring of silent, hard-breathing men watched him and marveled at the clumsiness of his story.
"It is strange," said the captain. "Fell ofer backvards, you said. It is very strange! ”

“ He struck the knife to the deck, where it rattled and slid toward the scupper.
"Eh?" Conroy gaped, not understanding. "I don't see what—"
"Pick it up!" said Slade, with a gesture toward the knife. He spoke as though he strangled an impulse to brandish his fists and scream in a nasal whisper. "It's safe to kick you," he said. "A woman could do it."
"But—" Conroy flustered, vaguely.
Slade drove him off with a wave of his arm and turned away with the abruptness of a man disgusted beyond hearing. Conroy stared after him and saw him pick up his broom where he had dropped it and join the others. ”

“ Short-legged, tending to bigness in the belly, bearded, vibrant with animal force and personal power, his mere presence cowed them. His gross face, the happy face of an egoist with a sound digestion, sent its lofty and sure regard over them; it had a kind of unconsciousness of their sense of humility, of their wrong and resentment—the innocence of an aloof and distant tyrant, who has not dreamed how hurt flesh quivers and seared minds rankle. ”

“ Setting down the pot which he held, he stooped and lifted the belt which Conroy had thrown down. It seemed to interest him, for he looked at it for some moments.
"And here's yer knife," he said, reaching it to the youth, still with his manner of mockery. "There's some men it wouldn't be safe to kick, with a knife in their belts."
He and Conroy were the only Englishmen there; the rest were of the races which do not fight bare-handed. The big Greek flashed a smile through the black, shining curls of his beard, and continued to smile without speaking. ”

“ What are you snivelin' at? D'ye think yer the only man as ever stove in a mate's head—an' him a murderin' man-driver? Keep them tales for the Old Man; he believes 'em, seemingly; but don't you come them on me."
Conroy was moaning. "I never touched him; I never touched him!"
"Never touched him! Here, take the pin; it's yours!"
He shrank from it. "No, no!"
Slade pitched it to his bunk, where it lay on the blanket. "It's yours," he repeated. "If yer don't want it, heave it overboard yerself or stick it back in the rail. Never touched him—you make me sick with yer 'never touched him'!" ”

“ There was something lunatic and strange in the youth's glare also; and it will sometimes happen that an oppressed and cowed man in his extremity will shrug his meekness from him and become, in a breath, a desperado. This had its place in the mate's considerations.
"Finish, den!" he rasped, with no weakening of his tone or manner. "You don't t'ink I'm goin' to vait all night for dem rope-yarns—hey?"
He turned his back at once lest Conroy should venture another retort and make an immediate fight unavoidable. ”

“ You want to make me out a murderer. I tell you I never touched him."
The other stood just within the door, the upper half of his face shadowed by his sou'wester, his thin lips curved in a faint smile. "No?" he said, mockingly. "You didn't touch him? An' I make no doubts you'd take yer oath of it. But you shouldn't have put the pin back in the rail when you was through with it, all the same."
"There wasn't any pin there," said Conroy, quickly. He had backed as far from Slade as he could, and was staring at him with horrified eyes. ”

“ The scupper and deck had been washed clean by successive seas; there was no trace there of blood, and none on the rail. Even while they searched, water spouted down on them. But what Conroy noted was that no pin stood in the rail where the mate had fallen, and the hole that might have held one was empty.
"Ah, vell!" said the captain at last. "De poor fellow is dead. I do not understand, quite, how he should, fall like dat, but he is dead. Four of you get de body aft." ”