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Almost
opposite
his
berth
,
across
the
narrow
passage
under
the
bridge
,
there
was
,
in
the
iron
deck-structure
covering
the
stokehold
fiddle
and
the
boiler-space
,
a
storeroom
with
iron
sides
,
iron
roof
,
iron-plated
floor
,
too
,
on
account
of
the
heat
below
.
All
sorts
of
rubbish
was
shot
there
:
it
had
a
mound
of
scrap-iron
in
a
corner
;
rows
of
empty
oil-cans
;
sacks
of
cotton-waste
,
with
a
heap
of
charcoal
,
a
deck-forge
,
fragments
of
an
old
hencoop
,
winch-covers
all
in
rags
,
remnants
of
lamps
,
and
a
brown
felt
hat
,
discarded
by
a
man
dead
now
(
of
a
fever
on
the
Brazil
coast
)
,
who
had
been
once
mate
of
the
Sofala
,
had
remained
for
years
jammed
forcibly
behind
a
length
of
burst
copper
pipe
,
flung
at
some
time
or
other
out
of
the
engine-room
.
A
complete
and
imperious
blackness
pervaded
that
Capharnaum
of
forgotten
things
.
A
small
shaft
of
light
from
Mr.
Massy
's
bull
's
-
eye
fell
slanting
right
through
it
.
His
coat
was
unbuttoned
;
he
shot
the
bolt
of
the
door
(
there
was
no
other
opening
)
,
and
,
squatting
before
the
scrap-heap
,
began
to
pack
his
pockets
with
pieces
of
iron
.
He
packed
them
carefully
,
as
if
the
rusty
nuts
,
the
broken
bolts
,
the
links
of
cargo
chain
,
had
been
so
much
gold
he
had
that
one
chance
to
carry
away
.
He
packed
his
side-pockets
till
they
bulged
,
the
breast
pocket
,
the
pockets
inside
.
He
turned
over
the
pieces
.
Some
he
rejected
.
A
small
mist
of
powdered
rust
began
to
rise
about
his
busy
hands
.
Mr.
Massy
knew
something
of
the
scientific
basis
of
his
clever
trick
.
If
you
want
to
deflect
the
magnetic
needle
of
a
ship
's
compass
,
soft
iron
is
the
best
;
likewise
many
small
pieces
in
the
pockets
of
a
jacket
would
have
more
effect
than
a
few
large
ones
,
because
in
that
way
you
obtain
a
greater
amount
of
surface
for
weight
in
your
iron
,
and
it
's
surface
that
tells
.
He
slipped
out
swiftly
--
two
strides
sufficed
--
and
in
his
cabin
he
perceived
that
his
hands
were
all
red
--
red
with
rust
.
It
disconcerted
him
,
as
though
he
had
found
them
covered
with
blood
:
he
looked
himself
over
hastily
.
Why
,
his
trowsers
too
!
He
had
been
rubbing
his
rusty
palms
on
his
legs
.
He
tore
off
the
waistband
button
in
his
haste
,
brushed
his
coat
,
washed
his
hands
.
Then
the
air
of
guilt
left
him
,
and
he
sat
down
to
wait
.
He
sat
bolt
upright
and
weighted
with
iron
in
his
chair
.
He
had
a
hard
,
lumpy
bulk
against
each
hip
,
felt
the
scrappy
iron
in
his
pockets
touch
his
ribs
at
every
breath
,
the
downward
drag
of
all
these
pounds
hanging
upon
his
shoulders
.
He
looked
very
dull
too
,
sitting
idle
there
,
and
his
yellow
face
,
with
motionless
black
eyes
,
had
something
passive
and
sad
in
its
quietness
.
When
he
heard
eight
bells
struck
above
his
head
,
he
rose
and
made
ready
to
go
out
.
His
movements
seemed
aimless
,
his
lower
lip
had
dropped
a
little
,
his
eyes
roamed
about
the
cabin
,
and
the
tremendous
tension
of
his
will
had
robbed
them
of
every
vestige
of
intelligence
.
With
the
last
stroke
of
the
bell
the
Serang
appeared
noiselessly
on
the
bridge
to
relieve
the
mate
.
Sterne
overflowed
with
good
nature
,
since
he
had
nothing
more
to
desire
.
"
Got
your
eyes
well
open
yet
,
Serang
?
It
's
middling
dark
;
I
'll
wait
till
you
get
your
sight
properly
.
"
The
old
Malay
murmured
,
looked
up
with
his
worn
eyes
,
sidled
away
into
the
light
of
the
binnacle
,
and
,
crossing
his
hands
behind
his
back
,
fixed
his
eyes
on
the
compass-card
.
