Rich Man's Coffin by K Martin Gardner Page A

during mealtime, crewmen would openly ask what he was eating, and how much of it; and lively discussion would break out around Arthur concerning what he would do all day.   When the weather was good, seamen would crowd around him topside to carry on question-and-answer sessions, good-heartedly needling him on various subjects ranging from abolition in America to zealots in Zaire.   Now standing well over six-feet tall and black as the whales they hunted, Arthur Alesworth was an authority figure. Most of the sailors respected the young man and his opinions on everything, much more so than they had in Rio.  
    On balmy nights, Arthur would bring out his mouth harp on the forecastle and play tremendous melodies to the delight of the Midnight crew.   His popularity grew to match his proportions; and life on the ship began to revolve around him.   In turn, he was pleased to be accepted for who he really was, not being seen as solely a man with black skin.
    His growth in stature and prominence in such a short period had not gone unnoticed by the First Mate; and it had certainly not escaped the attention of the Captain.   One night as the Captain sat pouring over his charts, he heard the melodious playing of a magical sounding instrument streaming over the deck and down through the open cabin windows.   He stood to listen, and to watch the porpoises frolic in the moonlit wake of the ship.   He saw the water glowing and the eerie shine of the schools of fish gliding just beneath the surface through flashing mobs of microbes.   He took out his sextant and pointed it at the cloudless, starry, indigo sky.   Diamond-laced sapphire , he thought, as the singing of the night crew harmonized with the mysterious pied piping.
    The crew sang:
                         “Come all you whale men who are cruising for Sperm,
                       Come all of you seamen who have rounded Cape Horn,
                       For our Captain has told us, and he says out of hand,
                       There are a thousand whales off the coast of New Zealand!”
     
              The Captain broke out his best brandy, and sipped a soothing glassful. His trance continued as he listened to the sailors singing, and he congratulated himself once again on a successful rounding of The Horn. Now, it was just a straight shot to New Zealand following the Tropic of Capricorn.   The ease and serenity of it all nearly lulled him to sleep. He lost track of time. After what he thought was half an hour, the Captain peered through his sextant again. He saw a familiar star staring back at him through the lens. It seemed oddly out of place. He put down the viewer and quickly fiddled with his astrolabe. He scribbled an equation on his chart.  
    Hold on , he thought, we’re off course!   The Captain cried out for help, but no response came from the adjacent cabins.   The Captain rang the First Mate’s bell furiously.   Still no response.   He yelled out again.   All he heard was the continuous caroling of the crew growing louder, and the confounding sound of a harmonica playing the same chorus over and over.
    Blast! Who is playing that infernal instrument? He wondered, as he raced from his cabin, down the passageway to the first ladder.   Bouncing off bulkheads as he ran, he scrambled topside and stood fuming at mid ship.   He lurked there in the dark unnoticed for nearly a minute, until he could stand being ignored no more amid the frivolous music.  
    “Harper!”   He yelled at the top of his lungs. No reaction.   Again, “You there, Harper!   Cease and desist!”
    All at once, the music and singing stopped as the First Mate wheeled around, falling from his perch on the forecastle and dropping his mug of grog. He picked himself up, and shouted the customary, “Attention on deck!”   All hands stood transfixed where they were and saluted the Captain.
    “Mate!   Are you aware that