The After House

"We could stop this drinking."

"And have him shoot up the ship! I have been thinking all evening,

and only one thing occurs to me. We are five women and two men,

and Vail refuses to be alarmed. I want you to sleep in the after

house. Isn't there a storeroom where you could put a cot?"

"Yes," I agreed, "and I'll do it, of course, if you are uneasy, but

I really think--"

"Never mind what you really think. I haven't slept for three nights,

and I'm showing it." She made a motion to rise, and I helped her up.

She was a tall woman, and before I knew it she had put both her hands

on my shoulders.

"You are a poor butler, and an indifferent sailor, I believe," she

said, "but you are rather a dear. Thank you."

She left me, alternately uplifted and sheepish. But that night I

took a blanket and a pillow into the storeroom, and spread my six

feet of length along the greatest diameter of a four-by-seven pantry.

And that night, also, between six and seven bells, with the storm

subsided and only a moderate sea, Schwartz, the second mate, went

overboard--went without a cry, without a sound.

Singleton, relieving him at four o'clock, found his cap lying near

starboard, just forward of the after house. The helmsman and the

two men in the lookout reported no sound of a struggle. The lookout

had seen the light of his cigar on the forecastle-head at six bells

(three o'clock). At seven bells he had walked back to the helmsman

and commented cheerfully on the break in the weather. That was the

last seen of him.

The alarm was raised when Singleton went on watch at four o'clock.

The Ella was heaved to and the lee boat lowered. At the same time

life-buoys were thrown out, and patent lights. But the early summer

dawn revealed a calm ocean; and no sign of the missing mate.

At ten o'clock the order was reluctantly given to go on.