ond 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.

CHAPTER V

A TERRIBLE NIGHT

With the disappearance of Schwartz, the Ella was short-handed: I
believe Captain Richardson made an attempt to secure me to take the
place of Burns, now moved up into Schwartz's position. But the attempt
met with a surly refusal from Turner.

The crew was plainly nervous and irritable. Sailors are simple-minded
men, as a rule; their mental processes are elemental. They began to
mutter that the devil-ship of the Turner line was at her tricks again.

That afternoon, going into the forecastle for some of my clothing, I
found a curious group. Gathered about the table were Tom, the mulatto
cook, a Swede named Oleson, Adams, and Burns of the crew. At the head
of the table Charlie Jones was reading the service for the burial of
the dead at sea. The men were standing, bareheaded. I took off my cap
and stood, just inside the door, until the simple service was over. I
was strongly moved.

Schwartz disappeared in the early morning of August 9. And now I come,
not without misgiving, to the night of August 12. I am wondering if,
after all, I have made clear the picture that is before my eyes: the
languid cruise, the slight relaxation of discipline, due to the leisure
of a pleasure voyage, the Ella again rolling gently, with hardly a dash
of spray to show that she was moving, the sun beating down on her white
decks and white canvas, on the three women in summer attire, on
unending-bridge, with its accompaniment of tall glasses filled with
ice, on Turner's morose face and Vail's watchful one. In the
forecastle, much gossip and not a little fear, and in the forward
house, where Capta