"Heave to!" he screamed, bumping against the sliding side. "Heave to!"
A deep voice above him spoke.
Kit looked up. A man, leaning over the side, was watching him bump stern-wards with a sardonic grin.
"Bye-bye," he murmured deeply. "My love to the little gurls."
Was he mad? was he mocking?
Kit thought he had never seen so striking a face. The man was a giant with moon-splendid eyes. There was a power about the face, the power of darkness. The sun never shone upon it—only the moon, the moon. But for her wan glimmer it was without light. Kit thought of a wild night at sea, the moon gleaming fitfully on savage waters. The moon, always the moon!
"Despatches for Nelson!" screamed the boy—"for Nelson, Nelson, Nelson!"
The moon went out. There was one flash of lightning, then horror of darkness. The man's life had shocked to a halt. He did not stir, he did not wink, he did not breathe.
Then the blackness lifted, and the moon shone out once more between dark scuds.
"Nelson ain't a-board," he said.