hing, and in
seeing, knew for certain now that what he had suspected in that first
glance was indeed the truth, and in that moment there was something akin
to murder in his soul. He saw with satisfaction, however, that, although
the upper part of the arm was much swollen, as yet the progress of decay
had not gone much beyond the wrist; and having seen this and verified
the nature of the complaint, he applied the fresh lotion and was for
bandaging the arm up and stealing out and away again when he caught
sight of something that made him suck in his breath and set his heart
hammering.

The captain, attracted by his movement and the sound of his thick
breathing, opened his pain-closed eyes, looked round and met the
questioning look of his.

"Oh," he said with a smile of understanding. "You are looking at the
tattooing near my shoulder, are you? Haven't you ever noticed it
before?"

"No," said Cleek, keeping his voice steady by an effort. "Who did it
and why? There's a name there and a queer sort of emblem. They are not
yours, surely?"

"Good heaven, no! My name's Samuel Bridewell and always has been. Red
Hamish put that thing there--oh, more than five-and-twenty years ago.
Him and me was wrecked on a reef in the Indian Ocean when the _Belle
Burgoyne_ went down from under us and took all but us down with her. It
might as well have took Red Hamish, too, poor chap, for he was hurt
cruel bad, and he only lived a couple of days afterward. There was just
me alone on the reef when the _Kitty Gordon_ come sailin' along, see my
signal of distress, and took me off near done for after eight days'
fastin' and thirstin' on that bare scrap of terry firmer as they calls
it. I'd have been as dead as Red Hamish himself, I reckon, in another
twenty-four hours."

"Red Hamish? Good heavens, who was Red Hamish?"

"Never heard him called any other name than just that. Must have had
one, of course; and it's so blessed long ago now I disremember what it
was he put on the back of my shoulder. A great hand at tattooing he was.
Fair lived with his injy ink and his prickin' needles. Kept 'em in a
belt he wore and had 'em on him when the _Belle Burgoyne_ went down and
I managed to drag him on to the reef, poor chap.

"'Had your call, Red,' I says to him when I got him up beside me. 'I
reckon you're struck for death, old man.' 'I know it,' says he to me.
'But better me than you, cap'n', he says, ''cause there ain't nobody
waitin' and watchin'