going.”

“Fine.” Martin started to go. “By the way,” he said, and Evans knew and dreaded what he was going to say, “how[30] do you feel after the party last night? You don’t look so good.”

[30]

“I feel awful. Now go get to work.”

Martin left and Evans rested his head on his arm. He felt tired. The ship was unusually still. Far away he could hear the rasping croak of a raven. He opened the desk drawer.

ii

John Martin walked into the galley.

“What’s on your mind, Smitty?” he asked. Martin was always polite with the men and Evans was not. The men liked Martin better and that was the main reason why Evans did not like him, or so Martin thought.

“Nothing on my mind. You want to eat something?”

“No thanks. I’ll just take a little of this.” He poured himself some pineapple juice from a large can. Smitty watched him drink it.

“What’s on for chow tonight?”

The Indian’s eyes gleamed. “Vienna sausage and that’s all I got. I have to go get rations for a whole week now. I haven’t got no time to make bread or nothing. That guy,” he pointed upward, “he tell me just today to get this stuff.”

“Well, that’s O.K., Smitty,” Martin murmured soothingly, as he left, “it’ll be all right.”

On deck he found two of the crew coiling the long black water hose.

“Pretty empty, wasn’t she?”

One of them nodded. He was a heavy blond fellow, a[31] professional seaman. “Are we going out west?” he asked.

[31]

“That’s right. Leaving tomorrow.”

“That’s what Bervick said. We didn’t know what he was bulling or not. Weather don’t look bad.”

Martin looked at the pale sky. “You can’t ever tell,” he said.

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