armour of resolution, are ready to fight a losing
battle to the last; the desire of peace waxes stronger
as hope declines, till at last it conquers the very
desire of life. Which of us here has not observed
this, or maybe experienced something of that feeling
in his own person—this extreme weariness
of emotions, the vanity of effort, the yearning for
rest? Those striving with unreasonable forces
know it well,—the shipwrecked castaways
in boats, wanderers lost in a desert, men battling
against the unthinking might of nature, or the stupid
brutality of crowds.’
CHAPTER 8
’How long he stood stock-still by the hatch
expecting every moment to feel the ship dip under
his feet and the rush of water take him at the back
and toss him like a chip, I cannot say. Not very
long—two minutes perhaps. A couple
of men he could not make out began to converse drowsily,
and also, he could not tell where, he detected a curious
noise of shuffling feet. Above these faint sounds
there was that awful stillness preceding a catastrophe,
that trying silence of the moment before the crash;
then it came into his head that perhaps he would have
time to rush along and cut all the lanyards of the
gripes, so that the boats would float as the ship
went down.
’The Patna had a long bridge, and all the boats
were up there, four on one side and three on the other—the
smallest of them on the port-side and nearly abreast
of the steering gear. He assured me, with evident
anxiety to be believed, that he had been most careful
to keep them ready for instant service. He knew
his duty. I dare say he was a good enough mate
as far as that went. “I always believed
in being prepared for the worst,” he commented,
staring anxiously in my face. I nodded my approval
of the sound principle, averting my eyes before the
subtle unsoundness of the man.
’He started unsteadily to run. He had to
step over legs, avoid stumbling against the heads.
Suddenly some one caught hold of his coat from below,
and a distressed voice spoke under his elbow.
The light of the lamp he carried in his right hand
fell upon an upturned dark face whose eyes entreated
him together with the voice. He had picked up
enough of the language to understand the word water,
repeated several times in a tone of insistence, of
prayer, almost of despair. He gave a jerk to get
away, and felt an arm embrace his leg.
’"The beggar clung to me like a drowning man,”
he said impressively. “Water, water!
What water did he mean? What did he know?
As calmly as I could I ordered him to let go.
He was stopping me, time was pressing, other men began
to stir; I wanted time—time to cut the boats
adrift. He got hold of my hand now, and I felt
that he would begin to shout. It flashed upon
me it was enough to start a panic, and I hauled off
with my free arm and slung the lamp in his face.
The glass jingled, the light went out, but the blow
