informed that ashore we are too particular about trifles, because we have
the room for it, but on a trawler there is not much room. You have to
squeeze together, and make do with what is there, because fish is the
most important passenger. My hunk of bread was placed where the cloth
bore the imprint of a negro's hand. The mugs of tea were massive, and
sweetish (I could smell that) with condensed milk. Did I want my tea? I
noticed there were two men between me and the exit, and no room to pass.
The room was hot. The bench was rising and falling. My soul felt pale
and faintly apprehensive, compelling me, now I was beset, to take hold of
it firmly, and to tell it that this was not the time to be a miserable
martyr, but a coarse brute; and that, whether it liked it or not, I was
going to feed at once on fish, ham, and sickly liquor, and heaven help us
if it failed me before these sailors. It made no response, being a thin
nonconformist soul, so I had to leave it, and alone I advanced on the
food. As so often happens, the conquest was a little less hard than it
appeared to be. I progressed, though slowly, and at last was
sufficiently disengaged from my task to count the minutes moving at their
funeral pace to the end of the meal. The heat of the room mounted. The
movements of the ship continued to throw my stomach against the edge of
the table.

My companions, however, were in no hurry to move. They discussed, among
other things, Hull, and its unfortunate system of sanitation. While this
gossip, which was explicit with exuberant detail, was engaging us, I
summoned my scientific mind, which is not connected with my soul, to
listen to what was being said, and the rest of me was deaf. They went on
to tell each other about other trawlers and other crews. Other ships and
men, I heard, had most of the luck. "The fish follow some of 'em about,"
complained the skipper. "I should like to know how it's done."