the end (while making the bow of my tie) to
suspect that perhaps I
did not get the name right. I had been thinking of the
prominentMr. Jacobus pretty frequently during the passage and my hearing
might have been deceived by some
remote similarity of sound. . .
The
steward might have said Antrobus - or maybe Jackson.
But coming out of my stateroom with an interrogative "Mr. Jacobus?"
I was met by a quiet "Yes," uttered with a gentle smile. The "yes"
was rather perfunctory. He did not seem to make much of the fact
that he was Mr. Jacobus. I took stock of a big, pale face, hair
thin on the top, whiskers also thin, of a faded nondescript colour,
heavy eyelids. The thick, smooth lips in
repose looked as if glued
together. The smile was faint. A heavy,
tranquil man. I named my
two officers, who just then came down to breakfast; but why Mr.
Burns's silent
demeanour should suggest suppressed
indignation I
could not understand.
While we were
taking our seats round the table some disconnected
words of an altercation going on in the companionway reached my
ear. A stranger
apparently wanted to come down to
interview me,
and the
steward was opposing him.
"You can't see him."
"Why can't I?"
"The Captain is at breakfast, I tell you. He'll be going on shore
presently, and you can speak to him on deck."
"That's not fair. You let - "
"I've had nothing to do with that."
"Oh, yes, you have. Everybody ought to have the same chance. You
let that fellow - "
The rest I lost. The person having been repulsed
successfully, the
steward came down. I can't say he looked flushed - he was a
mulatto - but he looked flustered. After putting the dishes on the
table he remained by the sideboard with that lackadaisical air of
indifference he used to assume when he had done something too
clever by half and was afraid of getting into a
scrape over it.
The
contemptuous expression of Mr. Burns's face as he looked from
him to me was really
extraordinary. I couldn't imagine what new
bee had stung the mate now.
The Captain being silent, nobody else cared to speak, as is the way
in ships. And I was
saying nothing simply because I had been made
dumb by the splendour of the
entertainment. I had expected the
usual sea-breakfast,
whereas I
beheld spread before us a veritable
feast of shore pro
visions: eggs, sausages, butter which
plainlydid not come from a Danish tin, cutlets, and even a dish of
potatoes. It was three weeks since I had seen a real, live potato.
I contemplated them with interest, and Mr. Jacobus disclosed
himself as a man of human,
homely sympathies, and something of a
thought-reader.
"Try them, Captain," he encouraged me in a friendly undertone.
"They are excellent."
"They look that," I admitted. "Grown on the island, I suppose."
"Oh, no, imported. Those grown here would be more
expensive."
I was grieved at the ineptitude of the conversation. Were these
the topics for a
prominent and
wealthy merchant to discuss? I
thought the
simplicity with which he made himself at home rather
attractive; but what is one to talk about to a man who comes on one
suddenly, after sixty-one days at sea, out of a
totally unknown
little town in an island one has never seen before? What were
(besides sugar) the interests of that crumb of the earth, its
gossip, its topics of conversation? To draw him on business at
once would have been almost indecent - or even worse: impolitic.
All I could do at the moment was to keep on in the old groove.
"Are the pro
visions generally dear here?" I asked, fretting
inwardly at my inanity.
"I wouldn't say that," he answered placidly, with that appearance
of saving his
breath his restrained manner of
speaking suggested.
He would not be more explicit, yet he did not evade the subject.
Eyeing the table in a spirit of complete abstemiousness (he
wouldn't let me help him to any eatables) he went into details of
supply. The beef was for the most part imported from Madagascar;
mutton of course was rare and somewhat
expensive, but good goat's
flesh -
"Are these goat's cutlets?" I exclaimed
hastily, pointing at one of
the dishes.
Posed sentimentally by the sideboard, the
steward gave a start.
"Lor', no, sir! It's real mutton!"