t as an oven. It contained an immensity of fear and pain; an
atmosphere of shrieks and moans; prayers vociferated like blasphemies
and whispered curses. Outside, the men called by Charley, who informed
them in tones of delight that there was a holy row going on in Jimmy's
place, crowded before the closed door, too startled to open it. All
hands were there. The watch below had jumped out on deck in their
shirts, as after a collision. Men running up, asked:--"What is it?"
Others said:--"Listen!" The muffled screaming went on:--"On your knees! On
your knees!"--"Shut up!"--"Never! You are delivered into my hands.... Your
life has been saved.... Purpose.... Mercy.... Repent."--"You are a
crazy fool!..."--"Account of you... you... Never sleep in this world,
if I..."--"Leave off."--"No!... stokehold... only think!..." Then an
impassioned screeching babble where words pattered like hail.--"No!"
shouted Wait.--"Yes. You are!... No help.... Everybody says so."--"You
lie!"--"I see you dying this minnyt... before my eyes... as good as dead
already."--"Help!" shouted Jimmy, piercingly.--"Not in this valley....
look upwards," howled the other.--"Go away! Murder! Help!" clamoured
Jimmy. His voice broke. There were moanings, low mutters, a few sobs.

"What's the matter now?" said a seldom-heard voice.--"Fall back,
men! Fall back, there!" repeated Mr. Creighton, sternly, pushing
through.--"Here's the old man," whispered some.--"The cook's in there,
sir," exclaimed several, backing away. The door clattered open; a broad
stream of light darted out on wondering faces; a warm whiff of vitiated
air passed. The two mates towered head and shoulders above the spare,
grey-haired man who stood revealed between them, in shabby clothes,
stiff and angular, like a small carved figure, and with a thin, composed
face. The cook got up from his knees. Jimmy sat high in the bunk,
clasping his drawn-up legs. The tassel of the blue night-cap almost
imperceptibly trembled over his knees. They gazed astonished at his
long, curved back, while the white corner of one eye gleamed blindly
at them. He was afraid to turn his head, he shrank within himself; and
there was an aspect astounding and animal-like in the perfection of his
expectant immobility. A thing of instinct--the unthinking stillness of a
scared brute. "What are you doing here?" asked Mr. Baker, sharply.--"My
duty," said the cook, with ardour.--"Your... what?" began the mate.
Captain Allistoun touched