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Updated: May 28, 2025
He looked very smart, very gentlemanly, and all that. But do you know I never liked him, somehow. I am a plain man. You see, he wasn't exactly the sort for the chief mate of a ship like the Sephora."
What could I tell him he did not know already? . . . Finally I went on deck. The skipper of the Sephora had a thin red whisker all round his face, and the sort of complexion that goes with hair of that colour; also the particular, rather smeary shade of blue in the eyes. He was not exactly a showy figure; his shoulders were high, his stature but middling one leg slightly more bandy than the other.
It was just over two months since all this had happened, and he had thought so much about it that he seemed completely muddled as to its bearings, but still immensely impressed. "What would you think of such a thing happening on board your own ship? I've had the Sephora for these fifteen years. I am a well-known shipmaster."
Probably she drew too much water to cross the bar except at the top of spring tides. Therefore she went into that natural harbour to wait for a few days in preference to remaining in an open roadstead. "That's so," confirmed the second mate, suddenly, in his slightly hoarse voice. "She draws over twenty feet. She's the Liverpool ship Sephora with a cargo of coal.
And then you speaking to me so quietly as if you had expected me made me hold on a little longer. It had been a confounded lonely time I don't mean while swimming. I was glad to talk a little to somebody that didn't belong to the Sephora. As to asking for the captain, that was a mere impulse.
The warm, heavy tropical night closed upon his head again. "There's a ship over there," he murmured. "Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?" "Hadn't the slightest idea. I am the mate of her " He paused and corrected himself. "I should say I WAS." "Aha! Something wrong?" "Yes. Very wrong indeed. I've killed a man." "What do you mean? Just now?" "No, on the passage. Weeks ago.
He was afraid of the men, and also of that old second mate of his who had been sailing with him for years a grey- headed old humbug; and his steward, too, had been with him devil knows how long seventeen years or more a dogmatic sort of loafer who hated me like poison, just because I was the chief mate. No chief mate ever made more than one voyage in the Sephora, you know.
The warm, heavy tropical night closed upon his head again. "There's a ship over there," he murmured. "Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?" "Hadn't the slightest idea. I am the mate of her " He paused and corrected himself. "I should say I was." "Aha! Something wrong?" "Yes. Very wrong indeed. I've killed a man." "What do you mean? Just now?" "No, on the passage. Weeks ago.
"But all this doesn't tell me how you came to hang on to our side- ladder," I inquired, in the hardly audible murmurs we used, after he had told me something more of the proceedings on board the Sephora once the bad weather was over. "When we sighted Java Head I had had time to think all those matters out several times over.
What could I tell him he did not know already?... Finally I went on deck. The skipper of the Sephora had a thin red whisker all round his face, and the sort of complexion that goes with hair of that color; also the particular, rather smeary shade of blue in the eyes. He was not exactly a showy figure; his shoulders were high, his stature but middling one leg slightly more bandy than the other.
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