The Ship of Coral

by H. De Vere Stacpoole

Several of the hands were on deck, but not Jules. This man, though he was mate and had a knowledge of navigation sufficient to work the vessel, berthed in the fo’cs’le with the others. He was no doubt there.

Now, the fo’cs’le of a ship is sacred to the hands. It is entered by the ship’s officers rarely, and only on extraordinary occasions. Gaspard knew this fact, but the knowledge did not deter him.

He went to the fo’cs’le hatch, and descended the ladder into gloom and a stifling atmosphere.

It was a roomy enough place, as fo’cs’les go, and considering the tonnage of La Belle Arlésienne, but all the winds of heaven could never have purged it of the scent of blackbeetles and negroes. The slush lamps that had lit it for sixty years, the tobacco, from Perique to twist, that had been smoked there, the men, from Dagoes to Africans, who had lived there, all had left a reminiscence, a taint, almost one might say a colour.

Bunks lined the sides; there was only one hammock, it belonged to Jules; only one sea-chest, Jules’; the rest of the crew did not trouble about luggage very much—a knotted handkerchief or an old fish-mat serving them for bags and chests. The bunks ran up to where the heel of the bowsprit came into the place between the knightheads.

There were five men here, all asleep; Jules in his hammock and the four others in bunks; naked, for they had kicked off the last of their clothes in the stifling heat; and looking like bronze figures cast by some fantastic sculptor, fresh from the mould, and flung here and there to cool.

Pedro was not here.

Gaspard carefully verified the fact. The man must have died in the night and been cast overboard like a dog. There could be no doubt of the fact, for on La Belle Arlésienne there was no other place where he could be but here, unless he were stowed in the lazarette, in the caboose, in the harness cask or shot down the main hatch. Overboard was a much more tenable supposition. The thing had probably been done before dawn, and as Gaspard recognised the fact and looked around him at these grim figures lost in sleep, his own position on board, should anything bring him into opposition with Sagesse, came before him vividly.

Without clothes, naked, and barbaric, lit by the dim rays of the swinging lamp, here were the men who would give him short shrift and a plunge in the sea at the word of their commander. Pedro was one of themselves, yet they had made no opposition to his murder.

As he stood looking, a man in one of the starboard bunks tossed his arms and moved in his sleep. Gaspard did not wait. A moment later he was on deck. He had been lucky; the cook who had been in the caboose had not left it, the men on deck, all except the man at the wheel, were lazing in the afternoon sunshine. Three of them were seated with their backs to the after part of the main hatch, chewing tobacco, and yarning; he could see the tops of their heads and hear their voices yaw-yawing, their laughter and an occasional oath; two were leaning over the side of the vessel to leeward, yarning, and spitting into the sea.