The Unknown Shore. Patrick O’Brian

will invite you to mess with them.’ With these words he walked off, followed by his attendant, leaving Tobias in the cockpit; leaving him, too, in a state of confusion. He sat in the gloom, repeating ‘abaft the foremast’ in an undertone, and trying to reconcile his ideas of the healthiness of a sea-going life – unlimited fresh open air, and light – with this appallingly fetid den in the darkness. He tried to remember the way by which he had been led into the cockpit; he wondered whether it would be improper to leave it, whether he would ever be fed, and if so, where. A little later there was a strange drumming noise, followed by an unrestrained bawling and hallooing: a body of men rushed along the deck, lit now by occasional gleams and the opening of ports, and the canvas walls of Tobias’ berth bulged inwards as human forms blundered past it, to vanish as suddenly as they had come, with a spirited howl.

      ‘If I had had more presence of mind,’ said Tobias aloud, feeling his way slowly out of the cockpit, ‘I would have asked them the way. It might not have looked well, however: and I shall certainly find it myself, sooner or later.’ He was particularly anxious not to expose Jack as the possessor of a discreditably ignorant friend; he had, without being able to define the immediate causes, been aware of Jack’s uneasiness on several occasions, and although for himself he was totally indifferent to public opinion, he now, on reaching the main well-pump ladder, crept silently down it into the hold.

      When he had crawled over six of the lower futtocks, he found himself against the bulkhead of the bread-room, and here he was obliged to stop, for there was no way of getting farther aft. He was entirely surrounded by vast shrouded forms, very faintly to be surmised by the strangled remnant of light that filtered down through four successive gratings: rats moved about, and the unseen bilges slopped drearily underfoot. He no longer knew which way round he was.