Chapter 9

On turning to descend Massy perceived the head of Sterne the mate
loitering, with his sly confident smile, his red mustaches and blinking
eyes, at the foot of the ladder.

Sterne had been a junior in one of the larger shipping concerns before
joining the Sofala. He had thrown up his berth, he said, "on general
principles." The promotion in the employ was very slow, he complained,
and he thought it was time for him to try and get on a bit in the world.
It seemed as though nobody would ever die or leave the firm; they all
stuck fast in their berths till they got mildewed; he was tired of
waiting; and he feared that when a vacancy did occur the best servants
were by no means sure of being treated fairly. Besides, the captain he
had to serve under--Captain Provost--was an unaccountable sort of man,
and, he fancied, had taken a dislike to him for some reason or other.
For doing rather more than his bare duty as likely as not. When he
had done anything wrong he could take a talking to, like a man; but
he expected to be treated like a man too, and not to be addressed
invariably as though he were a dog. He had asked Captain Provost plump
and plain to tell him where he was at fault, and Captain Provost, in a
most scornful way, had told him that he was a perfect officer, and that
if he disliked the way he was being spoken to there was the gangway--he
could take himself off ashore at once. But everybody knew what sort of
man Captain Provost was. It was no use appealing to the office. Captain
Provost had too much influence in the employ. All the same, they had to
give him a good character. He made bold to say there was nothing in the
world against him, and, as he had happened to hear that the mate of the
Sofala had been taken to the hospital that morning with a sunstroke, he
thought there would be no harm in seeing whether he would not do. . . .

He had come to Captain Whalley freshly shaved, red-faced, thin-flanked,
throwing out his lean chest; and had recited his little tale with an
open and manly assurance. Now and then his eyelids quivered slightly,
his hand would steal up to the end of the flaming mustache; his eyebrows
were straight, furry, of a chestnut color, and the directness of his
frank gaze seemed to tremble on the verge of impudence. Captain Whalley
had engaged him temporarily; then, the other man having been ordered
home by the doctors, he had remained for the next trip, and then the
next. He had now attained permanency, and the performance of his duties
was marked by an air of serious, single-minded application. Directly
he was spoken to, he began to smile attentively, with a great deference
expressed in his whole attitude; but there was in the rapid winking
which went on all the time something