He went to it without a word and sat down cross-legged to survey his new quarters.

It was more like the bunkhouse of a western ranch than anything else he had been in, but all reduced to a miniature, cramped and confined.
Now his eyes grew accustomed to the dim, unpleasant light which came from a single lantern hanging on the central post, and he began to make out the faces of the sailors.

An oily-skinned Greek squatted on the bunk to his left.

To his right was a Chinaman, marvelously emaciated; his lips pulled back in a continual smile, meaningless, like the grin of a corpse.
Opposite was the inevitable Englishman, slender, good-looking, with pale hair and bright, active eyes.

Harrigan had traveled over half the world and never failed to find at least one subject of John Bull in any considerable group of men.