"He's dotty!" said Stubbins, who had been told to come off the look-out
and give us a pull.
"'e's as mad as a bloomin' 'atter," said Quoin, who was standing
foreside of me. "'e's been queer all along."
"Silence there!" shouted the Second Mate. Then:
"Williams!"
No answer.
"Williams!" more loudly.
Still no answer.
Then:
"Damn you, you jumped-up cockney crocodile! Can't you hear? Are you
blooming-well deaf?"
There was no answer, and the Second Mate turned to me.
"Jump aloft, smartly now, Jessop, and see what's wrong!"
"i, i, Sir," I said and made a run for the rigging. I felt a bit queer.
Had Williams gone mad? He certainly always had been a bit funny. Or--and
the thought came with a jump--had he seen--I did not finish. Suddenly,
up aloft, there sounded a frightful scream. I stopped, with my hand on
the sheerpole. The next instant, something fell out of the darkness--a
heavy body, that struck the deck near the waiting men, with a tremendous
crash and a loud, ringing, wheezy sound that sickened me. Several of the
men shouted out loud in their fright, and let go of the haulyards; but
luckily the stopper held it, and the yard did not come down. Then, for
the space of several seconds, there was a dead silence among the crowd;
and it seemed to me that the wind had in it a strange moaning note.
The Second Mate was the first to speak. His voice came so abruptly that
it startled me.
"Get a light, one of you, quick now!"
There was a moment's hesitation.
"Fetch one of the binnacle lamps, you, Tammy."
"i, i, Sir," the youngster said, in a quavering voice, and ran aft.
In less than a minute I saw the light coming towards us along the deck.
The boy was running. He reached us, and handed the lamp to the Second
Mate, who took it and went towards the dark, huddled heap on the deck.
He held the light out before him, and peered at the thing.
"My God!" he said. "It's Williams!"
He stooped lower with the light, and I saw details. It was Williams
right enough. The Second Mate told a couple of the men to lift him and
straighten him out on the hatch. Then he went aft to call the Skipper.
He returned in a couple of minutes with an old ensign which he spread
over the poor beggar. Almost directly, the Captain came hurrying forward
along the decks. He pulled back one end of the ensign, and looked; then
he put it back quietly, and the Second Mate explained all that we knew,
in a few words.
"Would you leave him where he is, Sir?" he asked, after he had told
everything.
"The night's fine," said the Captain. "You may as well leave the poor
devil there."
He turned, and went aft, slowly. The man who was holding the light,
swept it round so that it showed the place where Williams had struck the
deck.
The Second Mate spoke abruptly.
"Get a broom and a couple of buckets, some of you."
He turned sharply, and ordered Tammy on to the poop.
As soon as he had seen the yard mast-headed, and the ropes cleared up,
he followed Tammy. He knew well enough that it would not do for the
youngster to let his mind dwell too much on the poor chap on the hatch,
and I found out, a little later, that he gave the boy something to
occupy his thoughts.
After they had gone aft, we went into the fo'cas'le. Every one was moody
and frightened. For a little while, we sat about in our bunks and on the
chests, and no one said a word. The watch below were all asleep, and not
one of them knew what had happened.
All at once, Plummer, whose wheel it was, stepped over the starboard
washboard, into the fo'cas'le.
"What's up, anyway?" he asked. "Is Williams much 'urt?"
"Sh!" I said. "You'll wake the others. Who's taken your wheel?"
"Tammy--ther Second sent 'im. 'e said I could go forrard an' 'ave er
smoke. 'e said Williams 'ad 'ad er fall."
He broke off, and looked across the fo'cas'le.
"Where is 'e?" he inquired, in a puzzled voice.
I glanced at the others; but no one seemed inclined to start yarning
about it.
"He fell from the t'gallant rigging!" I said.
"Where is 'e?" he repeated.
"Smashed up," I said. "He's lying on the hatch."
"Dead?" he asked.