‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘it may interest you to know that the skipper intends to keep well to the south’ard, and that we’re more likely to sight the Shetlands than the Horn.’
But he only shook his head and smiled faintly as he replied,—
‘He was goin’ home by Good Hope, sir. But he didn’t. What the skipper means to do, an’ what the Lord wills is two very different things. My time’s gettin’ short; but we’ll both go together—him an’ me. I don’t reckon as there ’ll be any hazin’ to speak of in the next world. P’r’aps it’s best as it is. If I wasn’t sure an’ certain o’ what’s comin’, I’d have killed him long ago. But,’ he concluded, ‘I’m ready. I’ve been showed how it’s ordained to happen; an’, so long as I’ve the company I want, I don’t care.’
During these days, impressed, somehow, by the feeling of intense expectation that pervaded all hands for’ard, I took more notice of Mr Harris, the mate, than I had hitherto done.
‘He was no favourite of mine, and, beyond passing the time of day, we had found very little to say to each other.
And now, although scouting the idea of anything being about to happen to the man, I watched him and listened to him with curiosity.
Certainly he was an ill-favoured customer. Besides being plentifully pitted with smallpox over what of his [291] ]face was visible through the red tangle of hair and beard, the fleshy tip of his nose had been sliced clean off, leaving a nasty-looking, flat, red scar.
This, he said, was the work of a Malay kreese, whilst ashore at Samarang on a drunken spree. But the captain once told me confidentially that common report around Limehouse and the Docks attributed the mishap to Mrs Harris and a carving-knife.
Be this as it may, he was a bad-tempered, overbearing brute, although, I believe, a good seaman.
At meal times he rarely spoke, but, gulping his food down, left the table as quickly as possible.