Chapter: One night, about eleven o'clock, a man of Mr. Riach's watch (which was
on deck) came below for his jacket; and instantly there began to go
a whisper about the forecastle that "Shuan had done for him at last."
There was no need of a name; we all knew who was meant; but we had
scarce time to get the idea rightly in our heads, far less to speak of
it, when the scuttle was again flung open, and Captain Hoseason came
down the ladder. He looked sharply round the bunks in the tossing light
of the lantern; and then, walking straight up to me, he addressed me, to
my surprise, in tones of kindness.

"My man," said he, "we want ye to serve in the round-house. You and
Ransome are to change berths. Run away aft with ye."

Even as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying Ransome
in their arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great sheer into the
sea, and the lantern swinging, the light fell direct on the boy's face.
It was as white as wax, and had a look upon it like a dreadful smile.
The blood in me ran cold, and I drew in my breath as if I had been
struck.

"Run away aft; run away aft with ye!" cried Hoseason.

And at that I brushed by the sailors and the boy (who neither spoke nor
moved), and ran up the ladder on deck.

The brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long, cresting
swell. She was on the starboard tack, and on the left hand, under the
arched foot of the foresail, I could see the sunset still quite bright.
This, at such an hour of the night, surprised me greatly; but I was too
ignorant to draw the true conclusion--that we were going north-about
round Scotland, and were now on the high sea between the Orkney and
Shetland Islands, having avoided the dangerous currents of the Pentland
Firth. For my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and knew
nothing of head-winds, I thought we might be half-way or more across the
Atlantic. And indeed (beyond that I wondered a little at the lateness of
the sunset light) I gave no heed to it, and pushed on across the decks,
running between the seas, catching at ropes, and only saved from going
overboard by one of the hands on deck, who had been always kind to me.

The round-house, for which I was bound, and where I was now to sleep and
serve, stood some six feet above the decks, and considering the size of
the brig, was of good dimensions. Inside were a fixed table and bench,
and two berths, one for the captain and the other for the two mates,
turn and turn about. It was all fitted with lockers from top to bottom,
so as to stow away the officers' belongings and a part of the ship's
stores; there was a second store-room underneath, which you entered by a
hatchway in the middle of the deck; indeed, all the best of the meat and
drink and the whole of the powder were collected in this place; and all
the firearms, except the two pieces of brass ordnance, were set in a
rack in the aftermost wall of the round-house. The most of the cutlasses
were in another place.

A small window with a shutter on each side, and a skylight in the roof,
gave it light by day; and after dark there was a lamp always burning.
It was burning when I entered, not brightly, but enough to show Mr.
Shuan sitting at the table, with the brandy bottle and a tin pannikin
in front of him. He was a tall man, strongly made and very black; and he
stared before him on the table like one stupid.

He took no notice of my coming in; nor did he move when the captain
followed and leant on the berth beside me, looking darkly at the mate.
I stood in great fear of Hoseason, and had my reasons for it; but
something told me I need not be afraid of him just then; and I whispered
in his ear: "How is he?" He shook his head like one that does not know
and does not wish to think, and his face was very stern.

Presently Mr. Riach came in. He gave the captain a glance that meant the
boy was dead as plain as speaking, and took his place like the rest
of us; so that we all three stood without a word, staring down at Mr.
Shuan, and Mr. Shuan (on his side) sat without a word, looking hard upon
the table.

All of a sudden he put out his hand to take the bottle; and at that Mr.
Riach started forward and caught it away from him, rather by surprise
than violence, crying out, with an oath, that there had been too much of
this work altogether, and that a judgment would fall upon the ship.
And as he spoke (the weather sliding-doors standing open) he tossed the
bottle into the sea.

Mr. Shuan was on his feet in a trice; he still looked dazed, but he
meant murder, ay, and would have done it, for the second time that
night, had not the captain stepped in between him and his victim.

"Sit down!" roars the captain. "Ye sot and swine, do ye know what ye've
done? Ye've murdered the boy!"

Mr. Shuan seemed to understand; for he sat down again, and put up his
hand to his brow.

"Well," he said, "he brought me a dirty pannikin!"

At that word, the captain and I and Mr. Riach all looked at each other
for a second with a kind of frightened look; and then Hoseason walked
up to his chief officer, took him by the shoulder, led him across to his
bunk, and bade him lie down and go to sleep, as you might speak to a bad
child. The murderer cried a little, but he took off his sea-boots and
obeyed.

"Ah!" cried Mr. Riach, with a dreadful voice, "ye should have interfered
long syne. It's too late now."

"Mr. Riach," said the captain, "this night's work must never be kennt
in Dysart. The boy went overboard, sir; that's what the story is; and I
would give five pounds out of my pocket it was true!" He turned to the
table. "What made ye throw the good bottle away?" he added. "There was
nae sense in that, sir. Here, David, draw me another. They're in the
bottom locker;" and he tossed me a key. "Ye'll need a glass yourself,
sir," he added to Riach. "Yon was an ugly thing to see."

So the pair sat down and hob-a-nobbed; and while they did so, the
murderer, who had been lying and whimpering in his berth, raised himself
upon his elbow and looked at them and at me.

That was the first night of my new duties; and in the course of the next
day I had got well into the run of them. I had to serve at the meals,
which the captain took at regular hours, sitting down with the officer
who was off duty; all the day through I would be running with a dram
to one or other of my three masters; and at night I slept on a blanket
thrown on the deck boards at the aftermost end of the round-house, and
right in the draught of the two doors. It was a hard and a cold bed;
nor was I suffered to sleep without interruption; for some one would be
always coming in from deck to get a dram, and when a fresh watch was
to be set, two and sometimes all three would sit down and brew a bowl
together. How they kept their health, I know not, any more than how I
kept my own.

And yet in other ways it was an easy service. There was no cloth to lay;
the meals were either of oatmeal porridge or salt junk, except twice a
week, when there was duff: and though I was clumsy enough and (not being
firm on my sealegs) sometimes fell with what I was bringing them, both
Mr. Riach and the captain were singularly patient. I could not but fancy
they were making up lee-way with their consciences, and that they
would scarce have been so good with me if they had not been worse with
Ransome.

As for Mr. Shuan, the drink or his crime, or the two together, had
certainly troubled his mind. I cannot say I ever saw him in his proper
wits. He never grew used to my being there, stared at me continually
(sometimes, I could have thought, with terror), and more than once drew
back from my hand when I was serving him. I was pretty sure from the
first that he had no clear mind of what he had done, and on my second
day in the round-house I had the proof of it. We were alone, and he had
been staring at me a long time, when all at once, up he got, as pale as
death, and came close up to me, to my great terror. But I had no cause
to be afraid of him.

"You were not here before?" he asked.

"No, sir," said I."

"There was another boy?" he asked again; and when I had answered him,
"Ah!" says he, "I thought that," and went and sat down, without another
word, except to call for brandy.

You may think it strange, but for all the horror I had, I was still
sorry for him. He was a married man, with a wife in Leith; but whether
or no he had a family, I have now forgotten; I hope not.

Altogether it was no very hard life for the time it lasted, which (as
you are to hear) was not long. I was as well fed as the best of them;
even their pickles, which were the great dainty, I was allowed my share
of; and had I liked I might have been drunk from morning to night, like
Mr. Shuan. I had company, too, and good company of its sort. Mr. Riach,
who had been to the college, spoke to me like a friend when he was not
sulking, and told me many curious things, and some that were informing;
and even the captain, though he kept me at the stick's end the most part
of the time, would sometimes unbuckle a bit, and tell me of the fine
countries he had visited.

The shadow of poor Ransome, to be sure, lay on all four of us, and on
me and Mr. Shuan in particular, most heavily. And then I had another
trouble of my own. Here I was, doing dirty work for three men that I
looked down upon, and one of whom, at least, should have hung upon a
gallows; that was for the present; and as for the future, I could only
see myself slaving alongside of negroes in the tobacco fields. Mr.
Riach, perhaps from caution, would never suffer me to say another word
about my story; the captain, whom I tried to approach, rebuffed me like
a dog and would not hear a word; and as the days came and went, my heart
sank lower and lower, till I was even glad of the work which kept me
from thinking.

 The Round-House Ransome is brought into the forecastle; Mr. Shuan has killed him. Hoseason orders David to become the new cabin boy. He sends him to the Round-House, the officers' cabin. Shuan is a wreck; killing the boy has ruined his already tenuous sanity. David becomes used to his duties, and finds it not so bad a life. Riach does not abuse David, his wits being gone. David tries to speak to Riach and the captain about their plans for him, and his plight, but they won't listen, and David has visions of himself slaving in the colonies of North America

