I was lyin' wi' my head under the
stern sheets an' only pulled mysel' up, now an' then, to peer out over
the gun'l. I s'pose 'twas the splashes as the men went over that made me
do this. I don't know for certain. There was sharks about: cruel things
happen 'pon the sea. The boat was in a gashly cauch of blood too. One
chap--Jeff Tresawna it was: his mother lived over to Looe--had tried to
open a vein, to drink, an' had made a mess o't an' bled to death. Far as
I know there was no fightin' to eat one another, same as one hears tell
of now an' then. The men just went mad and jumped like sheep: 'twas a
reg'lar disease. Two would go quick, one atop of t'other; an' then
there'd be a long stillness, an' then a yellin' again an' two more
splashes, maybe three. All through it I was dozin', off an' on; an' I
reckon these things got mixed up an' repeated in my head: for our crew
was only sixteen all told, an' it seemed to me I'd heard scores go over.
Anyway I opened my eyes at last--night it was, an' all the stars
blazin'--an' the boat was empty all except me an' Jeff Tresawna, him
that had bled to death.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246