Arthur Deacon was
almost in collapse, and he and Chantz, the Jew, shamelessly clung to
each other for support. Bob, the fat and overgrown youth, was
sobbing, while the other youth, Bony the Splinter, was shivering and
chattering his teeth. Yes, and the two best sailors for'ard, Tom
Spink and the Maltese Cockney, stood in the background, their backs
to the dark, their faces yearning toward the light.
More than all other contemptible things in this world there are two
that I loathe and despise: hysteria in a woman; fear and cowardice
in a man. The first turns me to ice. I cannot sympathize with
hysteria. The second turns my stomach. Cowardice in a man is to me
positively nauseous. And this fear-smitten mass of human animals on
our reeling poop raised my gorge. Truly, had I been a god at that
moment, I should have annihilated the whole mass of them. No; I
should have been merciful to one. He was the Faun. His bright,
pain-liquid, and flashing-eager eyes strained from face to face with
desire to understand. He did not know what had occurred, and, being
stone-deaf, had thought the rush aft a response to a call for all
hands.
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