Man Overboard! BY F. MARION CRAWFORD

 AUTHOR OF "THE UPPER BERTH, " "CECILIA, " "THE WITCH OF PRAGUE, " ETC. 

 [Illustration]

 New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY London: Macmillan & Co. , Ltd. 1903

 _All rights reserved_

 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY F. MARION CRAWFORD. 

 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

 * * * * *

 Set up and electrotyped April, 1903. 

 Norwood Press J. S. Cushing & Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

ILLUSTRATIONS

 Portrait of F. Marion Crawford _Frontispiece_

 FACING PAGE "He let go of the knife, and the point stuck into the deck" 54

 "One of his wet, shiny arms was round Mamie's waist" 92

MAN OVERBOARD

Yes--I have heard "Man overboard!" a good many times since I wasa boy, and once or twice I have seen the man go. There are moremen lost in that way than passengers on ocean steamers ever learnof. I have stood looking over the rail on a dark night, whenthere was a step beside me, and something flew past my head likea big black bat--and then there was a splash! Stokers often golike that. They go mad with the heat, and they slip up on deckand are gone before anybody can stop them, often without beingseen or heard. Now and then a passenger will do it, but hegenerally has what he thinks a pretty good reason. I have seen aman empty his revolver into a crowd of emigrants forward, andthen go over like a rocket. Of course, any officer who respectshimself will do what he can to pick a man up, if the weather isnot so heavy that he would have to risk his ship; but I don'tthink I remember seeing a man come back when he was once fairlygone more than two or three times in all my life, though we haveoften picked up the life-buoy, and sometimes the fellow's cap. Stokers and passengers jump over; I never knew a sailor to dothat, drunk or sober. Yes, they say it has happened on hardships, but I never knew a case myself. Once in a long time a manis fished out when it is just too late, and dies in the boatbefore you can get him aboard, and--well, I don't know that Iever told that story since it happened--I knew a fellow who wentover, and came back dead. I didn't see him after he came back;only one of us did, but we all knew he was there. 

No, I am not giving you "sharks. " There isn't a shark in thisstory, and I don't know that I would tell it at all if we weren'talone, just you and I. But you and I have seen things in variousparts, and maybe you will understand. Anyhow, you know that I amtelling what I know about, and nothing else; and it has been onmy mind to tell you ever since it happened, only there hasn'tbeen a chance. 

It's a long story, and it took some time to happen; and it begana good many years ago, in October, as well as I can remember. Iwas mate then; I passed the local Marine Board for master aboutthree years later. She was the _Helen B. Jackson_, of New York, with lumber for the West Indies, four-masted schooner, CaptainHackstaff. She was an old-fashioned one, even then--no steamdonkey, and all to do by hand. There were still sailors in thecoasting trade in those days, you remember. She wasn't a hardship, for the old man was better than most of them, though hekept to himself and had a face like a monkey-wrench. We werethirteen, all told, in the ship's company; and some of themafterwards thought that might have had something to do with it, but I had all that nonsense knocked out of me when I was a boy. Idon't mean to say that I like to go to sea on a Friday, but I_have_ gone to sea on a Friday, and nothing has happened; andtwice before that we have been thirteen, because one of the handsdidn't turn up at the last minute, and nothing ever happenedeither--nothing worse than the loss of a light spar or two, or alittle canvas. Whenever I have been wrecked, we had sailed ascheerily as you please--no thirteens, no Fridays, no dead men inthe hold. I believe it generally happens that way. 

I dare say you remember those two Benton boys that were so muchalike? It is no wonder, for they were twin brothers. They shippedwith us as boys on the old _Boston Belle_, when you were mateand I was before the mast. I never was quite sure which was whichof those two, even then; and when they both had beards it washarder than ever to tell them apart. One was Jim, and the otherwas Jack; James Benton and John Benton. The only difference Iever could see was, that one seemed to be rather more cheerfuland inclined to talk than the other; but one couldn't even besure of that. Perhaps they had moods. Anyhow, there was one ofthem that used to whistle when he was alone. He only knew onetune, and that was "Nancy Lee, " and the other didn't know anytune at all; but I may be mistaken about that, too. Perhaps theyboth knew it. 

Well, those two Benton boys turned up on board the _Helen B. Jackson_. They had been on half a dozen ships since the _BostonBelle_, and they had grown up and were good seamen. They hadreddish beards and bright blue eyes and freckled faces; and theywere quiet fellows, good workmen on rigging, pretty willing, andboth good men at the wheel. They managed to be in the samewatch--it was the port watch on the _Helen B. _, and that wasmine, and I had great confidence in them both. If there was anyjob aloft that needed two hands, they were always the first tojump into the rigging; but that doesn't often happen on afore-and-aft schooner. If it breezed up, and the jibtopsail wasto be taken in, they never minded a wetting, and they would beout at the bowsprit end before there was a hand at the downhaul. The men liked them for that, and because they didn't blow aboutwhat they could do. I remember one day in a reefing job, thedownhaul parted and came down on deck from the peak of thespanker. When the weather moderated, and we shook the reefs out, the downhaul was forgotten until we happened to think we mightsoon need it again. There was some sea on, and the boom was offand the gaff was slamming. One of those Benton boys was at thewheel, and before I knew what he was doing, the other was out onthe gaff with the end of the new downhaul, trying to reeve itthrough its block. The one who was steering watched him, and gotas white as cheese. The other one was swinging about on the gaffend, and every time she rolled to leeward he brought up with ajerk that would have sent anything but a monkey flying intospace. But he didn't leave it until he had rove the new rope, andhe got back all right. I think it was Jack at the wheel; the onethat seemed more cheerful, the one that whistled "Nancy Lee. " Hehad rather have been doing the job himself than watch his brotherdo it, and he had a scared look; but he kept her as steady as hecould in the swell, and he drew a long breath when Jim had workedhis way back to the peak-halliard block, and had something tohold on to. I think it was Jim. 

They had good togs, too, and they were neat and clean men in theforecastle. I knew they had nobody belonging to them ashore, --nomother, no sisters, and no wives; but somehow they both looked asif a woman overhauled them now and then. I remember that they hadone ditty bag between them, and they had a woman's thimble in it. One of the men said something about it to them, and they lookedat each other; and one smiled, but the other didn't. Most oftheir clothes were alike, but they had one red guernsey betweenthem. For some time I used to think it was always the same onethat wore it, and I thought that might be a way to tell themapart. But then I heard one asking the other for it, and sayingthat the other had worn it last. So that was no sign either. Thecook was a West Indiaman, called James Lawley; his father hadbeen hanged for putting lights in cocoanut trees where theydidn't belong. But he was a good cook, and knew his business; andit wasn't soup-and-bully and dog's-body every Sunday. That'swhat I meant to say. On Sunday the cook called both those boysJim, and on week-days he called them Jack. He used to say he mustbe right sometimes if he did that, because even the hands on apainted clock point right twice a day. 

What started me to trying for some way of telling the Bentonsapart was this. I heard them talking about a girl. It was atnight, in our watch, and the wind had headed us off a littlerather suddenly, and when we had flattened in the jibs, we cleweddown the topsails, while the two Benton boys got the spankersheet aft. One of them was at the helm. I coiled down themizzen-topsail downhaul myself, and was going aft to see how sheheaded up, when I stopped to look at a light, and leaned againstthe deck-house. While I was standing there I heard the two boystalking. It sounded as if they had talked of the same thingbefore, and as far as I could tell, the voice I heard firstbelonged to the one who wasn't quite so cheerful as theother, --the one who was Jim when one knew which he was. 

"Does Mamie know?" Jim asked. 

"Not yet, " Jack answered quietly. He was at the wheel. "I mean totell her next time we get home. "

"All right. "

That was all I heard, because I didn't care to stand therelistening while they were talking about their own affairs; so Iwent aft to look into the binnacle, and I told the one at thewheel to keep her so as long as she had way on her, for I thoughtthe wind would back up again before long, and there was land toleeward. When he answered, his voice, somehow, didn't sound likethe cheerful one. Perhaps his brother had relieved the wheelwhile they had been speaking, but what I had heard set mewondering which of them it was that had a girl at home. There'slots of time for wondering on a schooner in fair weather. 

After that I thought I noticed that the two brothers were moresilent when they were together. Perhaps they guessed that I hadoverheard something that night, and kept quiet when I was about. Some men would have amused themselves by trying to chaff themseparately about the girl at home, and I suppose whichever one itwas would have let the cat out of the bag if I had done that. But, somehow, I didn't like to. Yes, I was thinking of gettingmarried myself at that time, so I had a sort of fellow-feelingfor whichever one it was, that made me not want to chaff him. 

They didn't talk much, it seemed to me; but in fair weather, whenthere was nothing to do at night, and one was steering, the otherwas everlastingly hanging round as if he were waiting to relievethe wheel, though he might have been enjoying a quiet nap for allI cared in such weather. Or else, when one was taking his turn atthe lookout, the other would be sitting on an anchor beside him. One kept near the other, at night more than in the daytime. Inoticed that. They were fond of sitting on that anchor, and theygenerally tucked away their pipes under it, for the _Helen B. _was a dry boat in most weather, and like most fore-and-afters wasbetter on a wind than going free. With a beam sea we sometimesshipped a little water aft. We were by the stern, anyhow, on thatvoyage, and that is one reason why we lost the man. 

We fell in with a southerly gale, south-east at first; and thenthe barometer began to fall while you could watch it, and a longswell began to come up from the south'ard. A couple of monthsearlier we might have been in for a cyclone, but it's "Octoberall over" in those waters, as you know better than I. It was justgoing to blow, and then it was going to rain, that was all; andwe had plenty of time to make everything snug before it breezedup much. It blew harder after sunset, and by the time it wasquite dark it was a full gale. We had shortened sail for it, butas we were by the stern we were carrying the spanker close reefedinstead of the storm trysail. She steered better so, as long aswe didn't have to heave to. I had the first watch with the Bentonboys, and we had not been on deck an hour when a child might haveseen that the weather meant business. 

The old man came up on deck and looked round, and in less than aminute he told us to give her the trysail. That meant heaving to, and I was glad of it; for though the _Helen B. _ was a good vesselenough, she wasn't a new ship by a long way, and it did her nogood to drive her in that weather. I asked whether I should callall hands, but just then the cook came aft, and the old man saidhe thought we could manage the job without waking the sleepers, and the trysail was handy on deck already, for we hadn't beenexpecting anything better. We were all in oilskins, of course, and the night was as black as a coal mine, with only a ray oflight from the slit in the binnacle shield, and you couldn't tellone man from another except by his voice. The old man took thewheel; we got the boom amidships, and he jammed her into the winduntil she had hardly any way. It was blowing now, and it was allthat I and two others could do to get in the slack of thedownhaul, while the others lowered away at the peak and throat, and we had our hands full to get a couple of turns round the wetsail. It's all child's play on a fore-and-after compared withreefing topsails in anything like weather, but the gear of aschooner sometimes does unhandy things that you don't expect, andthose everlasting long halliards get foul of everything if theyget adrift. I remember thinking how unhandy that particular jobwas. Somebody unhooked the throat-halliard block, and thought hehad hooked it into the head-cringle of the trysail, and sang outto hoist away, but he had missed it in the dark, and the heavyblock went flying into the lee rigging, and nearly killed himwhen it swung back with the weather roll. Then the old man gother up in the wind until the jib was shaking like thunder; thenhe held her off, and she went off as soon as the head-sailsfilled, and he couldn't get her back again without the spanker. Then the _Helen B. _ did her favourite trick, and before we hadtime to say much we had a sea over the quarter and were up to ourwaists, with the parrels of the trysail only half becketed roundthe mast, and the deck so full of gear that you couldn't put yourfoot on a plank, and the spanker beginning to get adrift again, being badly stopped, and the general confusion and hell's delightthat you can only have on a fore-and-after when there's nothingreally serious the matter. Of course, I don't mean to say thatthe old man couldn't have steered his trick as well as you or Ior any other seaman; but I don't believe he had ever been onboard the _Helen B. _ before, or had his hand on her wheel tillthen; and he didn't know her ways. I don't mean to say that whathappened was his fault. I don't know whose fault it was. Perhapsnobody was to blame. But I knew something happened somewhere onboard when we shipped that sea, and you'll never get it out of myhead. I hadn't any spare time myself, for I was becketing therest of the trysail to the mast. We were on the starboard tack, and the throat-halliard came down to port as usual, and I supposethere were at least three men at it, hoisting away, while I wasat the beckets. 

Now I am going to tell you something. You have known me, man andboy, several voyages; and you are older than I am; and you havealways been a good friend to me. Now, do you think I am the sortof man to think I hear things where there isn't anything to hear, or to think I see things when there is nothing to see? No, youdon't. Thank you. Well now, I had passed the last becket, and Isang out to the men to sway away, and I was standing on the jawsof the spanker-gaff, with my left hand on the bolt-rope of thetrysail, so that I could feel when it was board-taut, and Iwasn't thinking of anything except being glad the job was over, and that we were going to heave her to. It was as black as acoal-pocket, except that you could see the streaks on the seas asthey went by, and abaft the deck-house I could see the ray oflight from the binnacle on the captain's yellow oilskin as hestood at the wheel--or rather I might have seen it if I hadlooked round at that minute. But I didn't look round. I heard aman whistling. It was "Nancy Lee, " and I could have sworn thatthe man was right over my head in the crosstrees. Only somehow Iknew very well that if anybody could have been up there, andcould have whistled a tune, there were no living ears sharpenough to hear it on deck then. I heard it distinctly, and at thesame time I heard the real whistling of the wind in the weatherrigging, sharp and clear as the steam-whistle on a Dago'speanut-cart in New York. That was all right, that was as itshould be; but the other wasn't right; and I felt queer andstiff, as if I couldn't move, and my hair was curling against theflannel lining of my sou'wester, and I thought somebody haddropped a lump of ice down my back. 

I said that the noise of the wind in the rigging was real, as ifthe other wasn't, for I felt that it wasn't, though I heard it. But it was, all the same; for the captain heard it, too. When Icame to relieve the wheel, while the men were clearing up decks, he was swearing. He was a quiet man, and I hadn't heard him swearbefore, and I don't think I did again, though several queerthings happened after that. Perhaps he said all he had to saythen; I don't see how he could have said anything more. I used tothink nobody could swear like a Dane, except a Neapolitan or aSouth American; but when I had heard the old man I changed mymind. There's nothing afloat or ashore that can beat one of yourquiet American skippers, if he gets off on that tack. I didn'tneed to ask him what was the matter, for I knew he had heard"Nancy Lee, " as I had, only it affected us differently. 

He did not give me the wheel, but told me to go forward and getthe second bonnet off the staysail, so as to keep her up better. As we tailed on to the sheet when it was done, the man next meknocked his sou'wester off against my shoulder, and his face cameso close to me that I could see it in the dark. It must have beenvery white for me to see it, but I only thought of thatafterwards. I don't see how any light could have fallen upon it, but I knew it was one of the Benton boys. I don't know what mademe speak to him. "Hullo, Jim! Is that you?" I asked. I don't knowwhy I said Jim, rather than Jack. 

"I am Jack, " he answered. We made all fast, and things were muchquieter. 

"The old man heard you whistling 'Nancy Lee, ' just now, " I said, "and he didn't like it. "

It was as if there were a white light inside his face, and it wasghastly. I know his teeth chattered. But he didn't say anything, and the next minute he was somewhere in the dark trying to findhis sou'wester at the foot of the mast. 

When all was quiet, and she was hove to, coming to and fallingoff her four points as regularly as a pendulum, and the helmlashed a little to the lee, the old man turned in again, and Imanaged to light a pipe in the lee of the deck-house, for therewas nothing more to be done till the gale chose to moderate, andthe ship was as easy as a baby in its cradle. Of course the cookhad gone below, as he might have done an hour earlier; so therewere supposed to be four of us in the watch. There was a man atthe lookout, and there was a hand by the wheel, though there wasno steering to be done, and I was having my pipe in the lee ofthe deck-house, and the fourth man was somewhere about decks, probably having a smoke too. I thought some skippers I had sailedwith would have called the watch aft, and given them a drinkafter that job, but it wasn't cold, and I guessed that our oldman wouldn't be particularly generous in that way. My hands andfeet were red-hot, and it would be time enough to get into dryclothes when it was my watch below; so I stayed where I was, andsmoked. But by and by, things being so quiet, I began to wonderwhy nobody moved on deck; just that sort of restless wanting toknow where every man is that one sometimes feels in a gale ofwind on a dark night. So when I had finished my pipe I began tomove about. I went aft, and there was a man leaning over thewheel, with his legs apart and both hands hanging down in thelight from the binnacle, and his sou'wester over his eyes. ThenI went forward, and there was a man at the lookout, with his backagainst the foremast, getting what shelter he could from thestaysail. I knew by his small height that he was not one of theBenton boys. Then I went round by the weather side, and pokedabout in the dark, for I began to wonder where the other man was. But I couldn't find him, though I searched the decks until I gotright aft again. It was certainly one of the Benton boys that wasmissing, but it wasn't like either of them to go below to changehis clothes in such warm weather. The man at the wheel was theother, of course. I spoke to him. 

"Jim, what's become of your brother?"

"I am Jack, sir. "

"Well, then, Jack, where's Jim? He's not on deck. "

"I don't know, sir. "

When I had come up to him he had stood up from force of instinct, and had laid his hands on the spokes as if he were steering, though the wheel was lashed; but he still bent his face down, andit was half hidden by the edge of his sou'wester, while he seemedto be staring at the compass. He spoke in a very low voice, butthat was natural, for the captain had left his door open when heturned in, as it was a warm night in spite of the storm, andthere was no fear of shipping any more water now. 

"What put it into your head to whistle like that, Jack? You'vebeen at sea long enough to know better. "

He said something, but I couldn't hear the words; it sounded asif he were denying the charge. 

"Somebody whistled, " I said. 

He didn't answer, and then, I don't know why, perhaps because theold man hadn't given us a drink, I cut half an inch off the plugof tobacco I had in my oilskin pocket, and gave it to him. Heknew my tobacco was good, and he shoved it into his mouth with aword of thanks. I was on the weather side of the wheel. 

"Go forward and see if you can find Jim, " I said. 

He started a little, and then stepped back and passed behind me, and was going along the weather side. Maybe his silence about thewhistling had irritated me, and his taking it for granted thatbecause we were hove to and it was a dark night, he might goforward any way he pleased. Anyhow, I stopped him, though I spokegood-naturedly enough. 

"Pass to leeward, Jack, " I said. 

He didn't answer, but crossed the deck between the binnacle andthe deck-house to the lee side. She was only falling off andcoming to, and riding the big seas as easily as possible, but theman was not steady on his feet and reeled against the corner ofthe deck-house and then against the lee rail. I was quite sure hecouldn't have had anything to drink, for neither of the brotherswere the kind to hide rum from their shipmates, if they had any, and the only spirits that were aboard were locked up in thecaptain's cabin. I wondered whether he had been hit by thethroat-halliard block and was hurt. 

I left the wheel and went after him, but when I got to the cornerof the deck-house I saw that he was on a full run forward, so Iwent back. I watched the compass for a while, to see how far shewent off, and she must have come to again half a dozen timesbefore I heard voices, more than three or four, forward; and thenI heard the little West Indies cook's voice, high and shrillabove the rest:--

"Man overboard!"

There wasn't anything to be done, with the ship hove-to and thewheel lashed. If there was a man overboard, he must be in thewater right alongside. I couldn't imagine how it could havehappened, but I ran forward instinctively. I came upon the cookfirst, half-dressed in his shirt and trousers, just as he hadtumbled out of his bunk. He was jumping into the main rigging, evidently hoping to see the man, as if any one could have seenanything on such a night, except the foam-streaks on the blackwater, and now and then the curl of a breaking sea as it wentaway to leeward. Several of the men were peering over the railinto the dark. I caught the cook by the foot, and asked who wasgone. 

"It's Jim Benton, " he shouted down to me. "He's not aboard thisship!"

There was no doubt about that. Jim Benton was gone; and I knew ina flash that he had been taken off by that sea when we weresetting the storm trysail. It was nearly half an hour since then;she had run like wild for a few minutes until we got her hove-to, and no swimmer that ever swam could have lived as long as that insuch a sea. The men knew it as well as I, but still they staredinto the foam as if they had any chance of seeing the lost man. Ilet the cook get into the rigging and joined the men, and askedif they had made a thorough search on board, though I knew theyhad and that it could not take long, for he wasn't on deck, andthere was only the forecastle below. 

"That sea took him over, sir, as sure as you're born, " said oneof the men close beside me. 

We had no boat that could have lived in that sea, of course, andwe all knew it. I offered to put one over, and let her driftastern two or three cable's-lengths by a line, if the men thoughtthey could haul me aboard again; but none of them would listen tothat, and I should probably have been drowned if I had tried it, even with a life-belt; for it was a breaking sea. Besides, theyall knew as well as I did that the man could not be right in ourwake. I don't know why I spoke again. "Jack Benton, are youthere? Will you go if I will?"

"No, sir, " answered a voice; and that was all. 

By that time the old man was on deck, and I felt his hand on myshoulder rather roughly, as if he meant to shake me. 

"I'd reckoned you had more sense, Mr. Torkeldsen, " he said. "Godknows I would risk my ship to look for him, if it were any use;but he must have gone half an hour ago. "

He was a quiet man, and the men knew he was right, and that theyhad seen the last of Jim Benton when they were bending thetrysail--if anybody had seen him then. The captain went belowagain, and for some time the men stood around Jack, quite nearhim, without saying anything, as sailors do when they are sorryfor a man and can't help him; and then the watch below turned inagain, and we were three on deck. 

Nobody can understand that there can be much consolation in afuneral, unless he has felt that blank feeling there is when aman's gone overboard whom everybody likes. I suppose landsmenthink it would be easier if they didn't have to bury theirfathers and mothers and friends; but it wouldn't be. Somehow thefuneral keeps up the idea of something beyond. You may believe inthat something just the same; but a man who has gone in the dark, between two seas, without a cry, seems much more beyond reachthan if he were still lying on his bed, and had only just stoppedbreathing. Perhaps Jim Benton knew that, and wanted to come backto us. I don't know, and I am only telling you what happened, andyou may think what you like. 

Jack stuck by the wheel that night until the watch was over. Idon't know whether he slept afterwards, but when I came on deckfour hours later, there he was again, in his oilskins, with hissou'wester over his eyes, staring into the binnacle. We saw thathe would rather stand there, and we left him alone. Perhaps itwas some consolation to him to get that ray of light wheneverything was so dark. It began to rain, too, as it can when asoutherly gale is going to break up, and we got every bucket andtub on board, and set them under the booms to catch the freshwater for washing our clothes. The rain made it very thick, and Iwent and stood under the lee of the staysail, looking out. Icould tell that day was breaking, because the foam was whiter inthe dark where the seas crested, and little by little the blackrain grew grey and steamy, and I couldn't see the red glare ofthe port light on the water when she went off and rolled toleeward. The gale had moderated considerably, and in another hourwe should be under way again. I was still standing there whenJack Benton came forward. He stood still a few minutes near me. The rain came down in a solid sheet, and I could see his wetbeard and a corner of his cheek, too, grey in the dawn. Then hestooped down and began feeling under the anchor for his pipe. Wehad hardly shipped any water forward, and I suppose he had someway of tucking the pipe in, so that the rain hadn't floated itoff. Presently he got on his legs again, and I saw that he hadtwo pipes in his hand. One of them had belonged to his brother, and after looking at them a moment I suppose he recognised hisown, for he put it in his mouth, dripping with water. Then helooked at the other fully a minute without moving. When he hadmade up his mind, I suppose, he quietly chucked it over the leerail, without even looking round to see whether I was watchinghim. I thought it was a pity, for it was a good wooden pipe, witha nickel ferrule, and somebody would have been glad to have it. But I didn't like to make any remark, for he had a right to dowhat he pleased with what had belonged to his dead brother. Heblew the water out of his own pipe, and dried it against hisjacket, putting his hand inside his oilskin; he filled it, standing under the lee of the foremast, got a light after wastingtwo or three matches, and turned the pipe upside down in histeeth, to keep the rain out of the bowl. I don't know why Inoticed everything he did, and remember it now; but somehow Ifelt sorry for him, and I kept wondering whether there wasanything I could say that would make him feel better. But Ididn't think of anything, and as it was broad daylight I went aftagain, for I guessed that the old man would turn out before longand order the spanker set and the helm up. But he didn't turn outbefore seven bells, just as the clouds broke and showed blue skyto leeward--"the Frenchman's barometer, " you used to call it. 

Some people don't seem to be so dead, when they are dead, asothers are. Jim Benton was like that. He had been on my watch, and I couldn't get used to the idea that he wasn't about deckswith me. I was always expecting to see him, and his brother wasso exactly like him that I often felt as if I did see him andforgot he was dead, and made the mistake of calling Jack by hisname; though I tried not to, because I knew it must hurt. If everJack had been the cheerful one of the two, as I had alwayssupposed he had been, he had changed very much, for he grew to bemore silent than Jim had ever been. 

One fine afternoon I was sitting on the main-hatch, overhaulingthe clock-work of the taffrail-log, which hadn't been registeringvery well of late, and I had got the cook to bring me acoffee-cup to hold the small screws as I took them out, and asaucer for the sperm-oil I was going to use. I noticed that hedidn't go away, but hung round without exactly watching what Iwas doing, as if he wanted to say something to me. I thought ifit were worth much he would say it anyhow, so I didn't ask himquestions; and sure enough he began of his own accord beforelong. There was nobody on deck but the man at the wheel, and theother man away forward. 

"Mr. Torkeldsen, " the cook began, and then stopped. 

I supposed he was going to ask me to let the watch break out abarrel of flour, or some salt horse. 

"Well, doctor?" I asked, as he didn't go on. 

"Well, Mr. Torkeldsen, " he answered, "I somehow want to ask youwhether you think I am giving satisfaction on this ship, or not?"

"So far as I know, you are, doctor. I haven't heard anycomplaints from the forecastle, and the captain has said nothing, and I think you know your business, and the cabin-boy is burstingout of his clothes. That looks as if you are giving satisfaction. What makes you think you are not?"

I am not good at giving you that West Indies talk, and sha'n'ttry; but the doctor beat about the bush awhile, and then he toldme he thought the men were beginning to play tricks on him, andhe didn't like it, and thought he hadn't deserved it, and wouldlike his discharge at our next port. I told him he was a d----dfool, of course, to begin with; and that men were more apt to trya joke with a chap they liked than with anybody they wanted toget rid of; unless it was a bad joke, like flooding his bunk, orfilling his boots with tar. But it wasn't that kind of practicaljoke. The doctor said that the men were trying to frighten him, and he didn't like it, and that they put things in his way thatfrightened him. So I told him he was a d----d fool to befrightened, anyway, and I wanted to know what things they put inhis way. He gave me a queer answer. He said they were spoons andforks, and odd plates, and a cup now and then, and such things. 

I set down the taffrail-log on the bit of canvas I had put underit, and looked at the doctor. He was uneasy, and his eyes had asort of hunted look, and his yellow face looked grey. He wasn'ttrying to make trouble. He was in trouble. So I asked himquestions. 

He said he could count as well as anybody, and do sums withoutusing his fingers, but that when he couldn't count any other wayhe did use his fingers, and it always came out the same. He saidthat when he and the cabin-boy cleared up after the men's mealsthere were more things to wash than he had given out. There'd bea fork more, or there'd be a spoon more, and sometimes there'd bea spoon and a fork, and there was always a plate more. It wasn'tthat he complained of that. Before poor Jim Benton was lost theyhad a man more to feed, and his gear to wash up after meals, andthat was in the contract, the doctor said. It would have been ifthere were twenty in the ship's company; but he didn't think itwas right for the men to play tricks like that. He kept histhings in good order, and he counted them, and he was responsiblefor them, and it wasn't right that the men should take morethings than they needed when his back was turned, and just soilthem and mix them up with their own, so as to make him think--

He stopped there, and looked at me, and I looked at him. I didn'tknow what he thought, but I began to guess. I wasn't going tohumour any such nonsense as that, so I told him to speak to themen himself, and not come bothering me about such things. 

"Count the plates and forks and spoons before them when they sitdown to table, and tell them that's all they'll get; and whenthey have finished, count the things again, and if the countisn't right, find out who did it. You know it must be one ofthem. You're not a green hand; you've been going to sea ten oreleven years, and don't want any lesson about how to behave ifthe boys play a trick on you. "

"If I could catch him, " said the cook, "I'd have a knife into himbefore he could say his prayers. "

Those West India men are always talking about knives, especiallywhen they are badly frightened. I knew what he meant, and didn'task him, but went on cleaning the brass cogwheels of the patentlog and oiling the bearings with a feather. "Wouldn't it bebetter to wash it out with boiling water, sir?" asked the cook, in an insinuating tone. He knew that he had made a fool ofhimself, and was anxious to make it right again. 

I heard no more about the odd platter and gear for two or threedays, though I thought about his story a good deal. The doctorevidently believed that Jim Benton had come back, though hedidn't quite like to say so. His story had sounded silly enoughon a bright afternoon, in fair weather, when the sun was on thewater, and every rag was drawing in the breeze, and the sealooked as pleasant and harmless as a cat that has just eaten acanary. But when it was toward the end of the first watch, andthe waning moon had not risen yet, and the water was like stilloil, and the jibs hung down flat and helpless like the wings of adead bird--it wasn't the same then. More than once I have startedthen, and looked round when a fish jumped, expecting to see aface sticking up out of the water with its eyes shut. I think weall felt something like that at the time. 

One afternoon we were putting a fresh service on thejib-sheet-pennant. It wasn't my watch, but I was standing bylooking on. Just then Jack Benton came up from below, and went tolook for his pipe under the anchor. His face was hard and drawn, and his eyes were cold like steel balls. He hardly ever spokenow, but he did his duty as usual, and nobody had to complain ofhim, though we were all beginning to wonder how long his grieffor his dead brother was going to last like that. I watched himas he crouched down, and ran his hand into the hiding-place forthe pipe. When he stood up, he had two pipes in his hand. 

Now, I remembered very well seeing him throw one of those pipesaway, early in the morning after the gale; and it came to me now, and I didn't suppose he kept a stock of them under the anchor. Icaught sight of his face, and it was greenish white, like thefoam on shallow water, and he stood a long time looking at thetwo pipes. He wasn't looking to see which was his, for I wasn'tfive yards from him as he stood, and one of those pipes had beensmoked that day, and was shiny where his hand had rubbed it, andthe bone mouthpiece was chafed white where his teeth had bittenit. The other was water-logged. It was swelled and cracking withwet, and it looked to me as if there were a little green weed onit. 

Jack Benton turned his head rather stealthily as I looked away, and then he hid the thing in his trousers pocket, and went aft onthe lee side, out of sight. The men had got the sheet pennant ona stretch to serve it, but I ducked under it and stood where Icould see what Jack did, just under the fore-staysail. Hecouldn't see me, and he was looking about for something. His handshook as he picked up a bit of half-bent iron rod, about a footlong, that had been used for turning an eye-bolt, and had beenleft on the main-hatch. His hand shook as he got a piece ofmarline out of his pocket, and made the water-logged pipe fast tothe iron. He didn't mean it to get adrift, either, for he tookhis turns carefully, and hove them taut and then rode them, sothat they couldn't slip, and made the end fast with twohalf-hitches round the iron, and hitched it back on itself. Thenhe tried it with his hands, and looked up and down the deckfurtively, and then quietly dropped the pipe and iron over therail, so that I didn't even hear the splash. If anybody wasplaying tricks on board, they weren't meant for the cook. 

I asked some questions about Jack Benton, and one of the men toldme that he was off his feed, and hardly ate anything, andswallowed all the coffee he could lay his hands on, and had usedup all his own tobacco and had begun on what his brother hadleft. 

"The doctor says it ain't so, sir, " said the man, looking at meshyly, as if he didn't expect to be believed; "the doctor saysthere's as much eaten from breakfast to breakfast as there wasbefore Jim fell overboard, though there's a mouth less andanother that eats nothing. I says it's the cabin-boy that getsit. He's bu'sting. "

I told him that if the cabin-boy ate more than his share, he mustwork more than his share, so as to balance things. But the manlaughed queerly, and looked at me again. 

"I only said that, sir, just like that. We all know it ain't so. "

"Well, how is it?"

"How is it?" asked the man, half-angry all at once. "I don't knowhow it is, but there's a hand on board that's getting his whackalong with us as regular as the bells. "

"Does he use tobacco?" I asked, meaning to laugh it out of him, but as I spoke I remembered the water-logged pipe. 

"I guess he's using his own still, " the man answered, in a queer, low voice. "Perhaps he'll take some one else's when his is allgone. "

It was about nine o'clock in the morning, I remember, for justthen the captain called to me to stand by the chronometer whilehe took his fore observation. Captain Hackstaff wasn't one ofthose old skippers who do everything themselves with a pocketwatch, and keep the key of the chronometer in their waistcoatpocket, and won't tell the mate how far the dead reckoning isout. He was rather the other way, and I was glad of it, for hegenerally let me work the sights he took, and just ran his eyeover my figures afterwards. I am bound to say his eye was prettygood, for he would pick out a mistake in a logarithm, or tell methat I had worked the "Equation of Time" with the wrong sign, before it seemed to me that he could have got as far as "half thesum, minus the altitude. " He was always right, too, and besideshe knew a lot about iron ships and local deviation, and adjustingthe compass, and all that sort of thing. I don't know how he cameto be in command of a fore-and-aft schooner. He never talkedabout himself, and maybe he had just been mate on one of thosebig steel square-riggers, and something had put him back. Perhapshe had been captain, and had got his ship aground, through noparticular fault of his, and had to begin over again. Sometimeshe talked just like you and me, and sometimes he would speak morelike books do, or some of those Boston people I have heard. Idon't know. We have all been shipmates now and then with men whohave seen better days. Perhaps he had been in the Navy, but whatmakes me think he couldn't have been, was that he was a thoroughgood seaman, a regular old wind-jammer, and understood sail, which those Navy chaps rarely do. Why, you and I have sailed withmen before the mast who had their master's certificates in theirpockets, --English Board of Trade certificates, too, --who couldwork a double altitude if you would lend them a sextant and givethem a look at the chronometer, as well as many a man whocommands a big square-rigger. Navigation ain't everything, norseamanship, either. You've got to have it in you, if you mean toget there. 

I don't know how our captain heard that there was troubleforward. The cabin-boy may have told him, or the men may havetalked outside his door when they relieved the wheel at night. Anyhow, he got wind of it, and when he had got his sight thatmorning he had all hands aft, and gave them a lecture. It wasjust the kind of talk you might have expected from him. He saidhe hadn't any complaint to make, and that so far as he kneweverybody on board was doing his duty, and that he was given tounderstand that the men got their whack, and were satisfied. Hesaid his ship was never a hard ship, and that he liked quiet, andthat was the reason he didn't mean to have any nonsense, and themen might just as well understand that, too. We'd had a greatmisfortune, he said, and it was nobody's fault. We had lost aman we all liked and respected, and he felt that everybody in theship ought to be sorry for the man's brother, who was leftbehind, and that it was rotten lubberly childishness, and unjustand unmanly and cowardly, to be playing schoolboy tricks withforks and spoons and pipes, and that sort of gear. He said it hadgot to stop right now, and that was all, and the men might goforward. And so they did. 

It got worse after that, and the men watched the cook, and thecook watched the men, as if they were trying to catch each other;but I think everybody felt that there was something else. Oneevening, at supper-time, I was on deck, and Jack came aft torelieve the wheel while the man who was steering got his supper. He hadn't got past the main-hatch on the lee side, when I heard aman running in slippers that slapped on the deck, and there was asort of a yell and I saw the coloured cook going for Jack, witha carving-knife in his hand. I jumped to get between them, andJack turned round short, and put out his hand. I was too far toreach them, and the cook jabbed out with his knife. But the bladedidn't get anywhere near Benton. The cook seemed to be jabbing itinto the air again and again, at least four feet short of themark. Then he dropped his right hand, and I saw the whites of hiseyes in the dusk, and he reeled up against the pin-rail, andcaught hold of a belaying-pin with his left. I had reached him bythat time, and grabbed hold of his knife-hand and the other too, for I thought he was going to use the pin; but Jack Benton wasstanding staring stupidly at him, as if he didn't understand. Butinstead, the cook was holding on because he couldn't stand, andhis teeth were chattering, and he let go of the knife, and thepoint stuck into the deck. 

"He's crazy!" said Jack Benton, and that was all he said; and hewent aft. 

[Illustration: HE LET GO OF THE KNIFE, AND THE POINT STUCK INTOTHE DECK. ]

When he was gone, the cook began to come to, and he spoke quitelow, near my ear. 

"There were two of them! So help me God, there were two of them!"

I don't know why I didn't take him by the collar, and give him agood shaking; but I didn't. I just picked up the knife and gaveit to him, and told him to go back to his galley, and not to makea fool of himself. You see, he hadn't struck at Jack, but atsomething he thought he saw, and I knew what it was, and I feltthat same thing, like a lump of ice sliding down my back, that Ifelt that night when we were bending the trysail. 

When the men had seen him running aft, they jumped up after him, but they held off when they saw that I had caught him. By and by, the man who had spoken to me before told me what had happened. Hewas a stocky little chap, with a red head. 

"Well, " he said, "there isn't much to tell. Jack Benton had beeneating his supper with the rest of us. He always sits at theafter corner of the table, on the port side. His brother used tosit at the end, next him. The doctor gave him a thundering bigpiece of pie to finish up with, and when he had finished hedidn't stop for a smoke, but went off quick to relieve the wheel. Just as he had gone, the doctor came in from the galley, and whenhe saw Jack's empty plate he stood stock still staring at it; andwe all wondered what was the matter, till we looked at the plate. There were two forks in it, sir, lying side by side. Then thedoctor grabbed his knife, and flew up through the hatch like arocket. The other fork was there all right, Mr. Torkeldsen, forwe all saw it and handled it; and we all had our own. That's allI know. "

I didn't feel that I wanted to laugh when he told me that story;but I hoped the old man wouldn't hear it, for I knew he wouldn'tbelieve it, and no captain that ever sailed likes to havestories like that going round about his ship. It gives her a badname. But that was all anybody ever saw except the cook, and heisn't the first man who has thought he saw things without havingany drink in him. I think, if the doctor had been weak in thehead as he was afterwards, he might have done something foolishagain, and there might have been serious trouble. But he didn't. Only, two or three times I saw him looking at Jack Benton in aqueer, scared way, and once I heard him talking to himself. 

"There's two of them! So help me God, there's two of them!"

He didn't say anything more about asking for his discharge, but Iknew well enough that if he got ashore at the next port we shouldnever see him again, if he had to leave his kit behind him, andhis money, too. He was scared all through, for good and all; andhe wouldn't be right again till he got another ship. It's no useto talk to a man when he gets like that, any more than it is tosend a boy to the main truck when he has lost his nerve. 

Jack Benton never spoke of what happened that evening. I don'tknow whether he knew about the two forks, or not; or whether heunderstood what the trouble was. Whatever he knew from the othermen, he was evidently living under a hard strain. He was quietenough, and too quiet; but his face was set, and sometimes ittwitched oddly when he was at the wheel, and he would turn hishead round sharp to look behind him. A man doesn't do thatnaturally, unless there's a vessel that he thinks is creeping upon the quarter. When that happens, if the man at the wheel takesa pride in his ship, he will almost always keep glancing over hisshoulder to see whether the other fellow is gaining. But JackBenton used to look round when there was nothing there; and whatis curious, the other men seemed to catch the trick when theywere steering. One day the old man turned out just as the man atthe wheel looked behind him. 

"What are you looking at?" asked the captain. 

"Nothing, sir, " answered the man. 

"Then keep your eye on the mizzen-royal, " said the old man, as ifhe were forgetting that we weren't a square-rigger. 

"Ay, ay, sir, " said the man. 

The captain told me to go below and work up the latitude from thedead-reckoning, and he went forward of the deck-house and satdown to read, as he often did. When I came up, the man at thewheel was looking round again, and I stood beside him and justasked him quietly what everybody was looking at, for it wasgetting to be a general habit. He wouldn't say anything at first, but just answered that it was nothing. But when he saw that Ididn't seem to care, and just stood there as if there werenothing more to be said, he naturally began to talk. 

He said that it wasn't that he saw anything, because there wasn'tanything to see except the spanker sheet just straining a little, andworking in the sheaves of the blocks as the schooner rose to the shortseas. There wasn't anything to be seen, but it seemed to him that thesheet made a queer noise in the blocks. It was a new manilla sheet; andin dry weather it did make a little noise, something between a creak anda wheeze. I looked at it and looked at the man, and said nothing; andpresently he went on. He asked me if I didn't notice anything peculiarabout the noise. I listened awhile, and said I didn't notice anything. Then he looked rather sheepish, but said he didn't think it could be hisown ears, because every man who steered his trick heard the same thingnow and then, --sometimes once in a day, sometimes once in a night, sometimes it would go on a whole hour. 

"It sounds like sawing wood, " I said, just like that. 

"To us it sounds a good deal more like a man whistling 'NancyLee. '" He started nervously as he spoke the last words. "There, sir, don't you hear it?" he asked suddenly. 

I heard nothing but the creaking of the manilla sheet. Itwas getting near noon, and fine, clear weather in southernwaters, --just the sort of day and the time when you would leastexpect to feel creepy. But I remembered how I had heard that sametune overhead at night in a gale of wind a fortnight earlier, and I am not ashamed to say that the same sensation came overme now, and I wished myself well out of the _Helen B. _, andaboard of any old cargo-dragger, with a windmill on deck, and aneighty-nine-forty-eighter for captain, and a fresh leak wheneverit breezed up. 

Little by little during the next few days life on board thatvessel came to be about as unbearable as you can imagine. Itwasn't that there was much talk, for I think the men were shyeven of speaking to each other freely about what they thought. The whole ship's company grew silent, until one hardly ever hearda voice, except giving an order and the answer. The men didn'tsit over their meals when their watch was below, but eitherturned in at once or sat about on the forecastle smoking theirpipes without saying a word. We were all thinking of the samething. We all felt as if there were a hand on board, sometimesbelow, sometimes about decks, sometimes aloft, sometimes on theboom end; taking his full share of what the others got, but doingno work for it. We didn't only feel it, we knew it. He took up noroom, he cast no shadow, and we never heard his footfall on deck;but he took his whack with the rest as regular as the bells, and--he whistled "Nancy Lee. " It was like the worst sort of dreamyou can imagine; and I dare say a good many of us tried tobelieve it was nothing else sometimes, when we stood looking overthe weather rail in fine weather with the breeze in our faces;but if we happened to turn round and look into each other's eyes, we knew it was something worse than any dream could be; and wewould turn away from each other with a queer, sick feeling, wishing that we could just for once see somebody who didn't knowwhat we knew. 

There's not much more to tell about the _Helen B. Jackson_ so faras I am concerned. We were more like a shipload of lunatics thananything else when we ran in under Morro Castle, and anchored inHavana. The cook had brain fever, and was raving mad in hisdelirium; and the rest of the men weren't far from the samestate. The last three or four days had been awful, and we hadbeen as near to having a mutiny on board as I ever want to be. The men didn't want to hurt anybody; but they wanted to get awayout of that ship, if they had to swim for it; to get away fromthat whistling, from that dead shipmate who had come back, andwho filled the ship with his unseen self. I know that if the oldman and I hadn't kept a sharp lookout the men would have put aboat over quietly on one of those calm nights, and pulled away, leaving the captain and me and the mad cook to work the schoonerinto harbour. We should have done it somehow, of course, for wehadn't far to run if we could get a breeze; and once or twice Ifound myself wishing that the crew were really gone, for theawful state of fright in which they lived was beginning to workon me too. You see I partly believed and partly didn't; butanyhow I didn't mean to let the thing get the better of me, whatever it was. I turned crusty, too, and kept the men at workon all sorts of jobs, and drove them to it until they wished Iwas overboard, too. It wasn't that the old man and I were tryingto drive them to desert without their pay, as I am sorry to saya good many skippers and mates do, even now. Captain Hackstaffwas as straight as a string, and I didn't mean those poor fellowsshould be cheated out of a single cent; and I didn't blame themfor wanting to leave the ship, but it seemed to me that the onlychance to keep everybody sane through those last days was to workthe men till they dropped. When they were dead tired they slept alittle, and forgot the thing until they had to tumble up on deckand face it again. That was a good many years ago. Do you believethat I can't hear "Nancy Lee" now, without feeling cold down myback? For I heard it too, now and then, after the man hadexplained why he was always looking over his shoulder. Perhaps itwas imagination. I don't know. When I look back it seems to methat I only remember a long fight against something I couldn'tsee, against an appalling presence, against something worse thancholera or Yellow Jack or the plague--and goodness knows themildest of them is bad enough when it breaks out at sea. The mengot as white as chalk, and wouldn't go about decks alone atnight, no matter what I said to them. With the cook raving inhis bunk the forecastle would have been a perfect hell, andthere wasn't a spare cabin on board. There never is on afore-and-after. So I put him into mine, and he was more quietthere, and at last fell into a sort of stupor as if he were goingto die. I don't know what became of him, for we put him ashorealive and left him in the hospital. 

The men came aft in a body, quiet enough, and asked the captainif he wouldn't pay them off, and let them go ashore. Some menwouldn't have done it, for they had shipped for the voyage, andhad signed articles. But the captain knew that when sailors getan idea into their heads they're no better than children; and ifhe forced them to stay aboard he wouldn't get much work out ofthem, and couldn't rely on them in a difficulty. So he paid themoff, and let them go. When they had gone forward to get theirkits, he asked me whether I wanted to go too, and for a minute Ihad a sort of weak feeling that I might just as well. But Ididn't, and he was a good friend to me afterwards. Perhaps he wasgrateful to me for sticking to him. 

When the men went off he didn't come on deck; but it was my dutyto stand by while they left the ship. They owed me a grudge formaking them work during the last few days, and most of themdropped into the boat without so much as a word or a look, assailors will. Jack Benton was the last to go over the side, andhe stood still a minute and looked at me, and his white facetwitched. I thought he wanted to say something. 

"Take care of yourself, Jack, " said I. "So long!"

It seemed as if he couldn't speak for two or three seconds; thenhis words came thick. 

"It wasn't my fault, Mr. Torkeldsen. I swear it wasn't my fault!"

That was all; and he dropped over the side, leaving me to wonderwhat he meant. 

The captain and I stayed on board, and the ship-chandler got aWest India boy to cook for us. 

That evening, before turning in, we were standing by the railhaving a quiet smoke, watching the lights of the city, a quarterof a mile off, reflected in the still water. There was music ofsome sort ashore, in a sailors' dance-house, I dare say; and Ihad no doubt that most of the men who had left the ship werethere, and already full of jiggy-jiggy. The music played a lot ofsailors' tunes that ran into each other, and we could hear themen's voices in the chorus now and then. One followed another, and then it was "Nancy Lee, " loud and clear, and the men singing"Yo-ho, heave-ho!"

"I have no ear for music, " said Captain Hackstaff, "but itappears to me that's the tune that man was whistling the night welost the man overboard. I don't know why it has stuck in my head, and of course it's all nonsense; but it seems to me that I haveheard it all the rest of the trip. "

I didn't say anything to that, but I wondered just how much theold man had understood. Then we turned in, and I slept ten hourswithout opening my eyes. 

I stuck to the _Helen B. Jackson_ after that as long as I couldstand a fore-and-after; but that night when we lay in Havana wasthe last time I ever heard "Nancy Lee" on board of her. The sparehand had gone ashore with the rest, and he never came back, andhe took his tune with him; but all those things are just as clearin my memory as if they had happened yesterday. 

After that I was in deep water for a year or more, and after Icame home I got my certificate, and what with having friends andhaving saved a little money, and having had a small legacy froman uncle in Norway, I got the command of a coastwise vessel, witha small share in her. I was at home three weeks before going tosea, and Jack Benton saw my name in the local papers, and wroteto me. 

He said that he had left the sea, and was trying farming, and hewas going to be married, and he asked if I wouldn't come over forthat, for it wasn't more than forty minutes by train; and he andMamie would be proud to have me at the wedding. I remembered howI had heard one brother ask the other whether Mamie knew. Thatmeant, whether she knew he wanted to marry her, I suppose. Shehad taken her time about it, for it was pretty nearly three yearsthen since we had lost Jim Benton overboard. 

I had nothing particular to do while we were getting ready forsea; nothing to prevent me from going over for a day, I mean;and I thought I'd like to see Jack Benton, and have a look at thegirl he was going to marry. I wondered whether he had growncheerful again, and had got rid of that drawn look he had when hetold me it wasn't his fault. How could it have been his fault, anyhow? So I wrote to Jack that I would come down and see himmarried; and when the day came I took the train, and got thereabout ten o'clock in the morning. I wish I hadn't. Jack met me atthe station, and he told me that the wedding was to be late inthe afternoon, and that they weren't going off on any sillywedding trip, he and Mamie, but were just going to walk home fromher mother's house to his cottage. That was good enough for him, he said. I looked at him hard for a minute after we met. When wehad parted I had a sort of idea that he might take to drink, buthe hadn't. He looked very respectable and well-to-do in his blackcoat and high city collar; but he was thinner and bonier thanwhen I had known him, and there were lines in his face, and Ithought his eyes had a queer look in them, half shifty, halfscared. He needn't have been afraid of me, for I didn't mean totalk to his bride about the _Helen B. Jackson_. 

He took me to his cottage first, and I could see that he wasproud of it. It wasn't above a cable's-length from high-watermark, but the tide was running out, and there was already a broadstretch of hard wet sand on the other side of the beach road. Jack's bit of land ran back behind the cottage about a quarter ofa mile, and he said that some of the trees we saw were his. Thefences were neat and well kept, and there was a fair-sized barn alittle way from the cottage, and I saw some nice-looking cattlein the meadows; but it didn't look to me to be much of a farm, and I thought that before long Jack would have to leave his wifeto take care of it, and go to sea again. But I said it was a nicefarm, so as to seem pleasant, and as I don't know much aboutthese things I dare say it was, all the same. I never saw it butthat once. Jack told me that he and his brother had been born inthe cottage, and that when their father and mother died theyleased the land to Mamie's father, but had kept the cottage tolive in when they came home from sea for a spell. It was as neata little place as you would care to see: the floors as clean asthe decks of a yacht, and the paint as fresh as a man-o'-war. Jack always was a good painter. There was a nice parlour on theground floor, and Jack had papered it and had hung the walls withphotographs of ships and foreign ports, and with things he hadbrought home from his voyages: a boomerang, a South Sea club, Japanese straw hats and a Gibraltar fan with a bull-fight on it, and all that sort of gear. It looked to me as if Miss Mamie hadtaken a hand in arranging it. There was a bran-new polished ironFranklin stove set into the old fireplace, and a red table-clothfrom Alexandria, embroidered with those outlandish Egyptianletters. It was all as bright and homelike as possible, and heshowed me everything, and was proud of everything, and I likedhim the better for it. But I wished that his voice would soundmore cheerful, as it did when we first sailed in the _Helen B. _, and that the drawn look would go out of his face for a minute. Jack showed me everything, and took me upstairs, and it was allthe same: bright and fresh and ready for the bride. But on theupper landing there was a door that Jack didn't open. When wecame out of the bedroom I noticed that it was ajar, and Jack shutit quickly and turned the key. 

"That lock's no good, " he said, half to himself. "The door isalways open. "

I didn't pay much attention to what he said, but as we went downthe short stairs, freshly painted and varnished so that I wasalmost afraid to step on them, he spoke again. 

"That was his room, sir. I have made a sort of store-room of it. "

"You may be wanting it in a year or so, " I said, wishing to bepleasant. 

"I guess we won't use his room for that, " Jack answered in a lowvoice. 

Then he offered me a cigar from a fresh box in the parlour, andhe took one, and we lit them, and went out; and as we opened thefront door there was Mamie Brewster standing in the path as ifshe were waiting for us. She was a fine-looking girl, and Ididn't wonder that Jack had been willing to wait three years forher. I could see that she hadn't been brought up on steam-heatand cold storage, but had grown into a woman by the sea-shore. She had brown eyes, and fine brown hair, and a good figure. 

"This is Captain Torkeldsen, " said Jack. "This is Miss Brewster, captain; and she is glad to see you. "

"Well, I am, " said Miss Mamie, "for Jack has often talked to usabout you, captain. "

She put out her hand, and took mine and shook it heartily, and Isuppose I said something, but I know I didn't say much. 

The front door of the cottage looked toward the sea, and therewas a straight path leading to the gate on the beach road. Therewas another path from the steps of the cottage that turned to theright, broad enough for two people to walk easily, and it ledstraight across the fields through gates to a larger house abouta quarter of a mile away. That was where Mamie's mother lived, and the wedding was to be there. Jack asked me whether I wouldlike to look round the farm before dinner, but I told him Ididn't know much about farms. Then he said he just wanted to lookround himself a bit, as he mightn't have much more chance thatday; and he smiled, and Mamie laughed. 

"Show the captain the way to the house, Mamie, " he said. "I'llbe along in a minute. "

So Mamie and I began to walk along the path, and Jack went uptoward the barn. 

"It was sweet of you to come, captain, " Miss Mamie began, "for Ihave always wanted to see you. "

"Yes, " I said, expecting something more. 

"You see, I always knew them both, " she went on. "They used totake me out in a dory to catch codfish when I was a little girl, and I liked them both, " she added thoughtfully. "Jack doesn'tcare to talk about his brother now. That's natural. But you won'tmind telling me how it happened, will you? I should so much liketo know. "

Well, I told her about the voyage and what happened that nightwhen we fell in with a gale of wind, and that it hadn't beenanybody's fault, for I wasn't going to admit that it was my oldcaptain's, if it was. But I didn't tell her anything about whathappened afterwards. As she didn't speak, I just went on talkingabout the two brothers, and how like they had been, and how whenpoor Jim was drowned and Jack was left, I took Jack for him. Itold her that none of us had ever been sure which was which. 

"I wasn't always sure myself, " she said, "unless they weretogether. Leastways, not for a day or two after they came homefrom sea. And now it seems to me that Jack is more like poor Jim, as I remember him, than he ever was, for Jim was always morequiet, as if he were thinking. "

I told her I thought so, too. We passed the gate and went intothe next field, walking side by side. Then she turned her head tolook for Jack, but he wasn't in sight. I sha'n't forget what shesaid next. 

"Are you sure now?" she asked. 

I stood stock-still, and she went on a step, and then turned andlooked at me. We must have looked at each other while you couldcount five or six. 

"I know it's silly, " she went on, "it's silly, and it's awful, too, and I have got no right to think it, but sometimes I can'thelp it. You see it was always Jack I meant to marry. "

"Yes, " I said stupidly, "I suppose so. "

She waited a minute, and began walking on slowly before she wenton again. 

"I am talking to you as if you were an old friend, captain, and Ihave only known you five minutes. It was Jack I meant to marry, but now he is so like the other one. "

When a woman gets a wrong idea into her head, there is only oneway to make her tired of it, and that is to agree with her. That's what I did, and she went on talking the same way for alittle while, and I kept on agreeing and agreeing until sheturned round on me. 

"You know you don't believe what you say, " she said, andlaughed. "You know that Jack is Jack, right enough; and it's JackI am going to marry. "

Of course I said so, for I didn't care whether she thought me aweak creature or not. I wasn't going to say a word that couldinterfere with her happiness, and I didn't intend to go back onJack Benton; but I remembered what he had said when he left theship in Havana: that it wasn't his fault. 

"All the same, " Miss Mamie went on, as a woman will, withoutrealising what she was saying, "all the same, I wish I had seenit happen. Then I should know. "

Next minute she knew that she didn't mean that, and was afraidthat I would think her heartless, and began to explain that shewould really rather have died herself than have seen poor Jim gooverboard. Women haven't got much sense, anyhow. All the same, Iwondered how she could marry Jack if she had a doubt that hemight be Jim after all. I suppose she had really got used to himsince he had given up the sea and had stayed ashore, and shecared for him. 

Before long we heard Jack coming up behind us, for we had walkedvery slowly to wait for him. 

"Promise not to tell anybody what I said, captain, " said Mamie, as girls do as soon as they have told their secrets. 

Anyhow, I know I never did tell any one but you. This is thefirst time I have talked of all that, the first time since I tookthe train from that place. I am not going to tell you all aboutthe day. Miss Mamie introduced me to her mother, who was a quiet, hard-faced old New England farmer's widow, and to her cousins andrelations; and there were plenty of them too at dinner, and therewas the parson besides. He was what they call a Hard-shellBaptist in those parts, with a long, shaven upper lip and awhacking appetite, and a sort of superior look, as if he didn'texpect to see many of us hereafter--the way a New York pilotlooks round, and orders things about when he boards an Italiancargo-dragger, as if the ship weren't up to much anyway, thoughit was his business to see that she didn't get aground. That'sthe way a good many parsons look, I think. He said grace as if hewere ordering the men to sheet home the topgallant-sail and getthe helm up. After dinner we went out on the piazza, for it waswarm autumn weather; and the young folks went off in pairs alongthe beach road, and the tide had turned and was beginning to comein. The morning had been clear and fine, but by four o'clock itbegan to look like a fog, and the damp came up out of the sea andsettled on everything. Jack said he'd go down to his cottage andhave a last look, for the wedding was to be at five o'clock, orsoon after, and he wanted to light the lights, so as to havethings look cheerful. 

"I will just take a last look, " he said again, as we reached thehouse. We went in, and he offered me another cigar, and I lit itand sat down in the parlour. I could hear him moving about, firstin the kitchen and then upstairs, and then I heard him in thekitchen again; and then before I knew anything I heard somebodymoving upstairs again. I knew he couldn't have got up thosestairs as quick as that. He came into the parlour, and he took acigar himself, and while he was lighting it I heard those stepsagain overhead. His hand shook, and he dropped the match. 

"Have you got in somebody to help?" I asked. 

"No, " Jack answered sharply, and struck another match. 

"There's somebody upstairs, Jack, " I said. "Don't you hearfootsteps?"

"It's the wind, captain, " Jack answered; but I could see he wastrembling. 

"That isn't any wind, Jack, " I said; "it's still and foggy. I'msure there's somebody upstairs. "

"If you are so sure of it, you'd better go and see for yourself, captain, " Jack answered, almost angrily. 

He was angry because he was frightened. I left him before thefireplace, and went upstairs. There was no power on earth thatcould make me believe I hadn't heard a man's footsteps overhead. I knew there was somebody there. But there wasn't. I went intothe bedroom, and it was all quiet, and the evening light wasstreaming in, reddish through the foggy air; and I went out onthe landing and looked in the little back room that was meant fora servant girl or a child. And as I came back again I saw thatthe door of the other room was wide open, though I knew Jack hadlocked it. He had said the lock was no good. I looked in. It wasa room as big as the bedroom, but almost dark, for it hadshutters, and they were closed. There was a musty smell, as ofold gear, and I could make out that the floor was littered withsea chests, and that there were oilskins and stuff piled on thebed. But I still believed that there was somebody upstairs, and Iwent in and struck a match and looked round. I could see the fourwalls and the shabby old paper, an iron bed and a crackedlooking-glass, and the stuff on the floor. But there was nobodythere. So I put out the match, and came out and shut the door andturned the key. Now, what I am telling you is the truth. When Ihad turned the key, I heard footsteps walking away from the doorinside the room. Then I felt queer for a minute, and when I wentdownstairs I looked behind me, as the men at the wheel used tolook behind them on board the _Helen B. _

Jack was already outside on the steps, smoking. I have an ideathat he didn't like to stay inside alone. 

"Well?" he asked, trying to seem careless. 

"I didn't find anybody, " I answered, "but I heard somebody movingabout. " "I told you it was the wind, " said Jack, contemptuously. "I ought to know, for I live here, and I hear it often. "

There was nothing to be said to that, so we began to walk downtoward the beach. Jack said there wasn't any hurry, as it wouldtake Miss Mamie some time to dress for the wedding. So westrolled along, and the sun was setting through the fog, and thetide was coming in. I knew the moon was full, and that when sherose the fog would roll away from the land, as it does sometimes. I felt that Jack didn't like my having heard that noise, so Italked of other things, and asked him about his prospects, andbefore long we were chatting as pleasantly as possible. 

I haven't been at many weddings in my life, and I don't supposeyou have, but that one seemed to me to be all right until it waspretty near over; and then, I don't know whether it was part ofthe ceremony or not, but Jack put out his hand and took Mamie'sand held it a minute, and looked at her, while the parson wasstill speaking. 

Mamie turned as white as a sheet and screamed. It wasn't a loudscream, but just a sort of stifled little shriek, as if she werehalf frightened to death; and the parson stopped, and asked herwhat was the matter, and the family gathered round. 

"Your hand's like ice, " said Mamie to Jack, "and it's all wet!"

She kept looking at it, as she got hold of herself again. 

"It don't feel cold to me, " said Jack, and he held the back ofhis hand against his cheek. "Try it again. "

Mamie held out hers, and touched the back of his hand, timidly atfirst, and then took hold of it. 

"Why, that's funny, " she said. 

"She's been as nervous as a witch all day, " said Mrs. Brewster, severely. 

"It is natural, " said the parson, "that young Mrs. Benton shouldexperience a little agitation at such a moment. "

Most of the bride's relations lived at a distance, and were busypeople, so it had been arranged that the dinner we'd had in themiddle of the day was to take the place of a dinner afterwards, and that we should just have a bite after the wedding was over, and then that everybody should go home, and the young couplewould walk down to the cottage by themselves. When I looked out Icould see the light burning brightly in Jack's cottage, a quarterof a mile away. I said I didn't think I could get any train totake me back before half-past nine, but Mrs. Brewster begged meto stay until it was time, as she said her daughter would want totake off her wedding dress before she went home; for she had puton something white with a wreath, that was very pretty, and shecouldn't walk home like that, could she?

So when we had all had a little supper the party began to breakup, and when they were all gone Mrs. Brewster and Mamie wentupstairs, and Jack and I went out on the piazza, to have asmoke, as the old lady didn't like tobacco in the house. 

The full moon had risen now, and it was behind me as I lookeddown toward Jack's cottage, so that everything was clear andwhite, and there was only the light burning in the window. Thefog had rolled down to the water's edge, and a little beyond, forthe tide was high, or nearly, and was lapping up over the lastreach of sand, within fifty feet of the beach road. 

Jack didn't say much as we sat smoking, but he thanked me forcoming to his wedding, and I told him I hoped he would be happy;and so I did. I dare say both of us were thinking of thosefootsteps upstairs, just then, and that the house wouldn't seemso lonely with a woman in it. By and by we heard Mamie's voicetalking to her mother on the stairs, and in a minute she wasready to go. She had put on again the dress she had worn in themorning, and it looked black at night, almost as black as Jack'scoat. 

Well, they were ready to go now. It was all very quiet after theday's excitement, and I knew they would like to walk down thatpath alone now that they were man and wife at last. I bade themgood-night, although Jack made a show of pressing me to go withthem by the path as far as the cottage, instead of going to thestation by the beach road. It was all very quiet, and it seemedto me a sensible way of getting married; and when Mamie kissedher mother good-night I just looked the other way, and knocked myashes over the rail of the piazza. So they started down thestraight path to Jack's cottage, and I waited a minute with Mrs. Brewster, looking after them, before taking my hat to go. Theywalked side by side, a little shyly at first, and then I saw Jackput his arm round her waist. As I looked he was on her left, andI saw the outline of the two figures very distinctly against themoonlight on the path; and the shadow on Mamie's right was broadand black as ink, and it moved along, lengthening and shorteningwith the unevenness of the ground beside the path. 

I thanked Mrs. Brewster, and bade her good-night; and though shewas a hard New England woman her voice trembled a little as sheanswered, but being a sensible person she went in and shut thedoor behind her as I stepped out on the path. I looked after thecouple in the distance a last time, meaning to go down to theroad, so as not to overtake them; but when I had made a few stepsI stopped and looked again, for I knew I had seen somethingqueer, though I had only realised it afterwards. I looked again, and it was plain enough now; and I stood stock-still, staring atwhat I saw. Mamie was walking between two men. The second man wasjust the same height as Jack, both being about a half a headtaller than she; Jack on her left in his black tail-coat andround hat, and the other man on her right--well, he was asailor-man in wet oilskins. I could see the moonlight shining onthe water that ran down him, and on the little puddle that hadsettled where the flap of his sou'wester was turned up behind:and one of his wet, shiny arms was round Mamie's waist, justabove Jack's. I was fast to the spot where I stood, and for aminute I thought I was crazy. We'd had nothing but some cider fordinner, and tea in the evening, otherwise I'd have thoughtsomething had got into my head, though I was never drunk in mylife. It was more like a bad dream after that. 

I was glad Mrs. Brewster had gone in. As for me, I couldn't helpfollowing the three, in a sort of wonder to see what wouldhappen, to see whether the sailor-man in his wet togs would justmelt away into the moonshine. But he didn't. 

[Illustration: ONE OF HIS WET, SHINY ARMS WAS ROUND MAMIE'S WAIST. ]

I moved slowly, and I remembered afterwards that I walked on thegrass, instead of on the path, as if I were afraid they mighthear me coming. I suppose it all happened in less than fiveminutes after that, but it seemed as if it must have taken anhour. Neither Jack nor Mamie seemed to notice the sailor. Shedidn't seem to know that his wet arm was round her, and little bylittle they got near the cottage, and I wasn't a hundred yardsfrom them when they reached the door. Something made me standstill then. Perhaps it was fright, for I saw everything thathappened just as I see you now. 

Mamie set her foot on the step to go up, and as she went forwardI saw the sailor slowly lock his arm in Jack's, and Jack didn'tmove to go up. Then Mamie turned round on the step, and they allthree stood that way for a second or two. She cried out then, --Iheard a man cry like that once, when his arm was taken off by asteam-crane, --and she fell back in a heap on the little piazza. 

I tried to jump forward, but I couldn't move, and I felt my hairrising under my hat. The sailor turned slowly where he stood, andswung Jack round by the arm steadily and easily, and began towalk him down the pathway from the house. He walked him straightdown that path, as steadily as Fate; and all the time I saw themoonlight shining on his wet oilskins. He walked him through thegate, and across the beach road, and out upon the wet sand, wherethe tide was high. Then I got my breath with a gulp, and ran forthem across the grass, and vaulted over the fence, and stumbledacross the road. But when I felt the sand under my feet, the twowere at the water's edge; and when I reached the water they werefar out, and up to their waists; and I saw that Jack Benton'shead had fallen forward on his breast, and his free arm hung limpbeside him, while his dead brother steadily marched him to hisdeath. The moonlight was on the dark water, but the fog-bank waswhite beyond, and I saw them against it; and they went slowly andsteadily down. The water was up to their armpits, and then up totheir shoulders, and then I saw it rise up to the black rim ofJack's hat. But they never wavered; and the two heads wentstraight on, straight on, till they were under, and there wasjust a ripple in the moonlight where Jack had been. 

It has been on my mind to tell you that story, whenever I got achance. You have known me, man and boy, a good many years; and Ithought I would like to hear your opinion. Yes, that's what Ialways thought. It wasn't Jim that went overboard; it was Jack, and Jim just let him go when he might have saved him; and thenJim passed himself off for Jack with us, and with the girl. Ifthat's what happened, he got what he deserved. People said thenext day that Mamie found it out as they reached the house, andthat her husband just walked out into the sea, and drownedhimself; and they would have blamed me for not stopping him ifthey'd known that I was there. But I never told what I had seen, for they wouldn't have believed me. I just let them think I hadcome too late. 

When I reached the cottage and lifted Mamie up, she was ravingmad. She got better afterwards, but she was never right in herhead again. 

Oh, you want to know if they found Jack's body? I don't knowwhether it was his, but I read in a paper at a Southern portwhere I was with my new ship that two dead bodies had come ashorein a gale down East, in pretty bad shape. They were lockedtogether, and one was a skeleton in oilskins. 

 * * * * *

 Francis Marion Crawford, the youngest of the four children of the well-known sculptor Thomas Crawford, was born in Rome, educated by a French governess; then at St Paul's School, Concord, N. H. ; in the quiet country village of Hatfield Regis, under an English tutor; at Trinity College, Cambridge, where they thought him a mathematician in those days; at Heidelberg and Karlsruhe, and at the University of Rome, where a special interest in Oriental languages sent him to India with the idea of preparing for a professorship. 

 At one time in India hard times nearly forced him into enlistment in the British army, but a chance opening sent him as editor of the _Indian Herald_ to Allahabad. It was during the next eighteen months that he met at Simla the hero of his first novel, "Mr. Isaacs. " "If it had not been for him, " Mr. Crawford has been known to say, "I might at this moment be a professor of Sanskrit in some American college;" for that idea persisted after his return to the United States, where he entered Harvard for special study of the subject. 

 But from the May evening when the story of the interesting man at Simla was first told in a club smoking-room overlooking Madison Square, Mr. Crawford's life has been one of hard literary work. He returned to Italy in 1883, spent most of the next year in Constantinople, where he was married to a daughter of General Berdan. From 1885 he has made his home in Sorrento, Italy, visiting America at intervals. 

 "Mr. Isaacs, " published in 1882, was followed almost at once by "Dr. Claudius. " Then _The Atlantic Monthly_ claimed a serial, "A Roman Singer, " in 1883. Since that time the list of his novels has been increased to thirty-two, besides the historical and descriptive works entitled "Ave Roma Immortalis" and "The Rulers of the South. "

 To Mr. Crawford, the development of a story and of the character which suggested it, is the preëminent thing. As the critics say:--

 "He is an artist, a born story-teller and colourist, imaginative and dramatic, virile and vivid. "

 His wide range as a traveller has contributed doubtless to another characteristic quality:--

 "... His strength in unexcelled portraits of odd characters and his magical skill in seeming to make his readers witnesses of the spectacles. "

 His intimate knowledge of many countries has resulted in an unequalled series of brilliant romances, including varied characters from the old families of Rome, the glassblowers of Venice, the silversmiths of Rome, the cigarette makers of Munich, the court of old Madrid, the Turks of Stamboul and the Bosphorus, simple sailors on the coast of Spain, Americans of modern New York and Bar Harbor, to Crusaders of the twelfth century. But whether the scene be in modern India, rural England, the Black Forest, or the palaces of Babylon, the story seizes on the imagination and fascinates the reader. 

 "The romantic reader will find here a tale of love passionate and pure; the student of character, the subtle analysis and deft portrayal he loves; the historian will approve its conscientious historic accuracy; the lover of adventure will find his blood stir and pulses quicken as he reads. "

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