‘The chief’ll settle that,’ answered Tom. ‘There’s the whole of the ship for a dinner-table.’
We walked to the galley. The destruction of the barricades had vastly improved the look of the vessel. The decks ran in a clear sweep. Some of the men had scrubbed at the stain where the quarter-deck sentry fell, but the dye was still red in the plank. The mass of the convicts aimlessly hung about in groups. Numbers overhung the rail, staring out to sea and talking. Others crouched in clusters under the bulwarks; some had half stripped themselves. Many were on the poop, where I caught sight of Mr. Bates walking with Will.
I called Tom’s attention to the general air of listlessness. He answered: ‘It’s partly heat, partly reaction. They’ve woke up to the sense of what’s happened, and the loneliness of the sea is upon them, though they couldn’t give you a name for their sensations.’
This brought us to the ship’s galley. The convicts had partly demolished their own kitchen, yet, of the two, it had been more serviceably furnished for so great a crowd as the ship contained.
The sun was now hanging low over the western ocean. I never before beheld it so vast and so red. Its wake came straight to the side of the ship from the edge of the sea. I saw no cloud, yet a soft, gentle wind blew; all the water was dark with it, and it tenderly swelled the ship’s canvas. All plain sail was set, saving the main-royal, where the lightning had left no mast to hoist the yard on. These observations I made quickly whilst Tom put his head into the galley-door and talked to the people within.
The men who had cooked for the convicts under the doctor were the cooks now. There were three of them, dressed in clothes stolen out of the forecastle. Spite of their cropped crowns and a sort of actor’s bullet-headed appearance, that might owe something to their blue, shorn cheeks and chins, they looked, in their seamen’s attire, superior to most of the fellows who had slept before the mast. Tom questioned them. A large hook-pot of steaming tea was then handed to him. He gave it to me with a glance which I perfectly understood. They cut off a piece of beef and put it into a tin dish. With these things and two or three ship’s biscuits, which one of the convicts took from a dresser-drawer two-thirds full of that sort of bread, we made our way aft, I carrying the tea and the beef and walking after Tom, as though he used me as his servant.
One of a number of convicts at the break of the poop was Barney Abram. He called down to know what was that I had. Tom answered that it was his supper. ‘I can’t wait for you people,’ said he. ‘The mate must be relieved in a few minutes.’ We then passed into his cabin.
We wanted sugar; a ridiculous, trifling matter I should not mention but for this, that, with Tom’s leave, I went aft into that small starboard cabin which Mr. Stiles had made a larder of, and which before the convicts rose had always been richly stocked, hams and sides of bacon hanging from the upper deck, fine flour and white biscuits in casks, various sorts of tinned stuffs, with all such necessaries, not to mention luxuries, which the cabin table demanded—I say, when I entered this little room to seek for a parcel of sugar, I witnessed a crueller, more abominable scene of waste than could be invented: Flour-casks split and the deck covered with dust; broken bottles of pickles; ham and cheese, as though they had been jumped upon. Indeed, I want memory to describe this horrid picture of wanton, senseless waste and destruction. Yet I found what I sought, and took also some cheese, what I broke from one that lay already broken upon the deck, filled a tin with white biscuit out of a gaping cask, and so returned to Tom.
We made a good meal. Neither of us had tasted food for many hours. I asked Tom after he should have gone on deck to send Will to me, as the lad, being afraid to seek for food on his own account, might be half famished for all I knew. Mr. Bates I reckoned old enough and man enough to look after himself. I then saw that there was oil in the bracket-lamp at the bulkhead. Indeed, the seeing to such things had been a part of my work under the steward. When Tom had ended his meal, he got up and said: ‘I shall turn the key upon you and give it to Will, who’ll let himself in; but see that he locks you up when he leaves you.’
‘Shan’t I see you again to-night, Tom?’