“The one you thought there was something the matter with?”
“Yes, and there was, too. He’s in that ’midship room with the Greek now. He’ll never do a tap of work the whole Voyage. He’s a hospital case, if there ever was one. Talk about shot to pieces! He’s got holes in him I could shove my fist through. I don’t know whether they’re perforating ulcers, or cancers, or cannon-shot wounds, or what not. And he had the nerve to tell me they showed up after he came on board!”
“And he had them all the time?” I asked.
“All the time! Take my word, Mr. Pathurst, they’re years old. But he’s a wonder. I watched him those first days, sent him aloft, had him down in the fore-hold trimming a few tons of coal, did everything to him, and he never showed a wince. Being up to the neck in the salt water finally fetched him, and now he’s reported off duty—for the voyage. And he’ll draw his wages for the whole time, have all night in, and never do a tap. Oh, he’s a hot one to have passed over on us, and the Elsinore’s another man short.”
“Another!” I exclaimed. “Is the Greek going to die?”
“No fear. I’ll have him steering in a few days. I refer to the misfits. If we rolled a dozen of them together they wouldn’t make one real man. I’m not saying it to alarm you, for there’s nothing alarming about it; but we’re going to have proper hell this voyage.” He broke off to stare reflectively at his broken knuckles, as if estimating how much drive was left in them, then sighed and concluded, “Well, I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
Sympathizing with Mr. Pike is futile; the only effect is to make his mood blacker. I tried it, and he retaliated with:
“You oughta see the bloke with curvature of the spine in Mr. Mellaire’s watch. He’s a proper hobo, too, and a land lubber, and don’t weigh more’n a hundred pounds, and must be fifty years old, and he’s got curvature of the spine, and he’s able seaman, if you please, on the Elsinore. And worse than all that, he puts it over on you; he’s nasty, he’s mean, he’s a viper, a wasp. He ain’t afraid of anything because he knows you dassent hit him for fear of croaking him. Oh, he’s a pearl of purest ray serene, if anybody should slide down a backstay and ask you. If you fail to identify him any other way, his name is Mulligan Jacobs.”
* * * * *
After breakfast, again on deck, in Mr. Mellaire’s watch, I discovered another efficient. He was at the wheel, a small, well-knit, muscular man of say forty-five, with black hair graying on the temples, a big eagle-face, swarthy, with keen, intelligent black eyes.