Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad (best ebook reader for chromebook .txt) 📕

poor brute would jump after him, don’t you see?’ he pursued with a quaver. ‘Yes, Captain Marlow. He set the log for me; he⁠—would you believe it?⁠—he put a drop of oil in it too. There was the oil-feeder where he left it near by. The boatswain’s mate got the hose along aft to wash down at half-past five; by-and-by he knocks off and runs up on the bridge⁠—“Will you please come aft, Mr. Jones,” he says. “There’s a funny thing. I don’t like to touch it.” It was Captain Brierly’s gold chronometer watch carefully hung under the rail by its chain.

“ ‘As soon as my eyes fell on it something struck me, and I knew, sir. My legs got soft under me. It was as if I had seen him go over; and I could tell how far behind he was left too. The taffrail-log marked eighteen miles and three-quarters, and four iron belaying-pins were missing round the mainmast. Put them in his pockets to help him down, I suppose; but, Lord! what’s four iron pins to a powerful man like Captain Brierly. Maybe his confidence in himself was just shook a bit at the last. That’s the only sign of fluster he gave in his whole life, I should think; but I am ready to answer for him, that once over he did not try to swim a stroke, the same as he would have had pluck enough to keep up all day long on the bare chance had he fallen overboard accidentally. Yes, sir. He was second to none⁠—if he said so himself, as I heard him once. He had written two letters in the middle watch, one to the Company and the other to me. He gave me a lot of instructions as to the passage⁠—I had been in the trade before he was out of his time⁠—and no end of hints as to my conduct with our people in Shanghai, so that I should keep the command of the Ossa. He wrote like a father would to a favourite son, Captain Marlow, and I was five-and-twenty years his senior and had tasted salt water before he was fairly breeched. In his letter to the owners⁠—it was left open for me to see⁠—he said that he had always done his duty by them⁠—up to that moment⁠—and even now he was not betraying their confidence, since he was leaving the ship to as competent a seaman as could be found⁠—meaning me, sir, meaning me! He told them that if the last act of his life didn’t take away all his credit with them, they would give weight to my faithful service and to his warm recommendation, when about to fill the vacancy made by his death. And much more like this, sir. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It made me feel queer all over,’ went on the old chap, in great perturbation, and squashing something in the corner of his eye with the end of a thumb as broad as a spatula. ‘You would think, sir, he had jumped overboard only to give an unlucky man a last show to get on. What with the shock of him going in this awful rash way, and thinking myself a made man by that chance, I was nearly off my chump for a week. But no fear. The captain of the Pelion was shifted into the Ossa⁠—came aboard in Shanghai⁠—a little popinjay, sir, in a grey check suit, with his hair parted in the middle. “Aw⁠—I am⁠—aw⁠—your new captain, Mister⁠—Mister⁠—aw⁠—Jones.” He was drowned in scent⁠—fairly stunk with it, Captain Marlow. I dare say it was the look I gave him that made him stammer. He mumbled something about my natural disappointment⁠—I had better know at once that his chief officer got the promotion to the Pelion⁠—he had nothing to do with it, of course⁠—supposed the office knew best⁠—sorry.⁠ ⁠… Says I, “Don’t you mind old Jones, sir; damn his soul, he’s used to it.” I could see directly I had shocked his delicate ear, and while we sat at our first tiffin together he began to find fault in a nasty manner with this and that in the ship. I never heard such a voice out of a Punch and Judy show. I set my teeth hard, and glued my eyes to my plate, and held my peace as long as I could; but at last I had to say something. Up he jumps tiptoeing, ruffling all his pretty plumes, like a little fighting-cock. “You’ll find you have a different person to deal with than the late Captain Brierly.” “I’ve found it,” says I, very glum, but pretending to be mighty busy with my steak. “You are an old ruffian, Mister⁠—aw⁠—Jones; and what’s more, you are known for an old ruffian in the employ,” he squeaks at me. The damned bottle-washers stood about listening with their mouths stretched from ear to ear. “I may be a hard case,” answers I, “but I ain’t so far gone as to put up with the sight of you sitting in Captain Brierly’s chair.” With that I lay down my knife and fork. “You would like to sit in it yourself⁠—that’s where the shoe pinches,” he sneers. I left the saloon, got my rags together, and was on the quay with all my dunnage about my feet before the stevedores had turned to again. Yes. Adrift⁠—on shore⁠—after ten years’ service⁠—and with a poor woman and four children six thousand miles off depending on my half-pay for every mouthful they ate. Yes, sir! I chucked it rather than hear Captain Brierly abused. He left me his night-glasses⁠—here they are; and he wished me to take care of the dog⁠—here he is. Hallo, Rover, poor boy. Where’s the captain, Rover?’ The dog looked up at us with mournful yellow eyes, gave one desolate bark, and crept under the table.

“All this was taking place, more than two years afterwards, on board that nautical ruin the