vain hope of catching a glimpse of their drowning
comrade. We had not a boat to lower, save only the little dinghy, which
would not have lived a minute in such a sea.

When I found somebody who could tell me what had happened this was what
I learnt. A man had fallen overboard; the watch had heard the splash as
the body fell into the water, and a wild cry that followed upon the
splash; a sailor had shouted out his warning of 'Man overboard!' and the
cry had roused the whole ship. Up to this point nobody seemed to have
any idea who the missing man was, but when Lancelot, who was immediately
on deck, though he had but just gone to lie down, had commanded
silence, and the men were gathered about him on the deck, the sailor who
had first made the alarm was found and questioned. This sailor said that
he saw a man standing at the vessel's side at a place where, when the
mast fell, the bulwark had been torn away and had left a gaping wound in
the ship's railings; that as he, surprised at seeing a man there, came
nearer to try and ascertain what he was doing, the man staggered, flung
up his arms--here the man who was narrating these things to us flung up
his hands in imitation--and then went over the side with a great splash
and a great cry. He believed that the man was none other than Cornelys
Jensen.

When Lancelot and I heard the name of Cornelys Jensen upon the man's
lips we looked involuntarily at each other, and I make certain that we
both grew pale. That the man of whom we had been talking not an hour
before in such different terms should have thus suddenly been taken out
of our lives came like a shock to us both. Further investigation
confirmed the accuracy of the man's statement. The roll was called over,
and every man answered to his name except Cornelys Jensen. His cabin was
at once searched, but he was not in it, and it was evident that he had
made no attempt to sleep there that night, for his hammock was
undisturbed. On the table lay a folded sheet of paper, which Lancelot
took up and opened. It contained only these words: 'Your doubts have
driven me to despair.' These words had apparently been followed by some
other words, the beginning of a fresh sentence, but, whatever they were,
they were so scrawled over with the pen that their meaning was as
effectually blotted out as if they had never been written.

Of course, all efforts to rescue the unhappy man were unavailing. There
was really nothing that we could do