the compass, would glance around the unattainable horizon, would stretch himself till his joints cracked, with a leisurely twist of the body, in the very excess of well-being; and, as if made audacious by the invincible aspect of the peace, he felt he cared for nothing that could happen to him to the end of his days.  From time to time he glanced idly at a chart pegged out with four drawing-pins on a low three-legged table abaft the steering-gear case.  The sheet of paper portraying the depths of the sea presented a shiny surface under the light of a bull’s-eye lamp lashed to a stanchion, a surface as level and smooth as the glimmering surface of the waters.  Parallel rulers with a pair of dividers reposed on it; the ship’s position at last noon was marked with a small black cross, and the straight pencil-line drawn firmly as far as Perim figured the course of the ship—­the path of souls towards the holy place, the promise of salvation, the reward of eternal life—­while the pencil with its sharp end touching the Somali coast lay round and still like a naked ship’s spar floating in the pool of a sheltered dock.  ‘How steady she goes,’ thought Jim with wonder, with something like gratitude for this high peace of sea and sky.  At such times his thoughts would be full of valorous deeds:  he loved these dreams and the success of his imaginary achievements.  They were the best parts of life, its secret truth, its hidden reality.  They had a gorgeous virility, the charm of vagueness, they passed before him with an heroic tread; they carried his soul away with them and made it drunk with the divine philtre of an unbounded confidence in itself.  There was nothing he could not face.  He was so pleased with the idea that he smiled, keeping perfunctorily his eyes ahead; and when he happened to glance back he saw the white streak of the wake drawn as straight by the ship’s keel upon the sea as the black line drawn by the pencil upon the chart.

The ash-buckets racketed, clanking up and down the stoke-hold ventilators, and this tin-pot clatter warned him the end of his watch was near.  He sighed with content, with regret as well at having to part from that serenity which fostered the adventurous freedom of his thoughts.  He was a little sleepy too, and felt a pleasurable languor running through every limb as though all the blood in his body had turned to warm milk.  His skipper had come up noiselessly, in pyjamas and with his sleeping-jacket flung wide open.  Red of face, only half awake, the left eye partly closed, the right staring stupid and glassy, he hung his big head over the chart and scratched his ribs sleepily.  There was something obscene in the sight of his naked flesh.  His bared breast glistened soft and greasy as though he had sweated out his fat in his sleep.  He pronounced a professional remark in a voice harsh and dead, resembling the rasping sound of a wood-file on the edge of a plank; the fold of his double chin hung like a bag triced up close