ing out here, falling in there, took the
shape of the human form. The dead lay there, while, breathing heavily,
his hand plucking at the coverlet, the dying seaman passed slowly away.

His shirt was open, showing the jagged, ragged hole made by the Malay
creese in the broad, hairy breast.

The man spoke, but his tones were low. Masters leaned over him, and
caught the faint eager tones.

"Tell the skipper to heave up the anchor, and get into blue water. I
know these fellows, and they'll come back."

"Ay, ay, Sedley," answered the steward, "I'll tell him, sure enough."

"Trouble not yourself about the brig, my poor fellow," said the
missionary. "Prepare to meet your God."

The man rolled restlessly from side to side, the hand ever plucking at
the coarse blanket.

"I've done my duty," he said. "There's no one left to ask after me in
the old house at home, so I may slip my anchor as soon as I like."

"Pray with me, Sedley," replied the missionary, and the faint light
glanced and flickered over the dark cabin, making the white sail seem to
take strange shapes, sometimes even to move; for the feeble daylight
began to mingle with the yellow rays, and the dying sailor's lips parted
in prayer, as he tossed wearily from side to side. It was a sad and
solemn spectacle.

A heavy step was heard coming down the fore-hatchway, and a moment later
Captain Weber stood by the man's berth. He was without the tarpaulin
hat he usually wore, and his forehead seamed with a broad bloody gash.

"Ay, ay!" ejaculated the old seaman. "Four of them under yonder sail,
and here goes a fifth."

On deck the tread of the men was heard, the splash of the water as it
was dashed about the stained decks, the loud, careless laugh, and now
and then the "Yeo, heave oh!" followed by a splash, as the dawning day
showed some corpse, hitherto overlooked, lying stiff and stark among the
spars and rigging with which the deck was strewn.

The dying man appeared to revive; he looked around him.

"Heave up the anchor, captain! Fourteen years of Jack Sedley's life has
been passed off this here coast. Heave up the anchor, and make sail on
the old bark! Them murderous beggars will--"

The man fell back heavily, a rattle was heard in the throat, the eyes
became glazed, a long breath was followed by a deep silence; again the
chest filled, as though by a laborious effort, the eyelids twitched
nervously, a heavy sigh, and the seaman's course was run.