Walter Knoulton returned to his duty, and after this he never left the pirate till the end came.
He found Murdock by this time quite an altered man. He was no longer the dissatisfied, impetuous, unreasonable being, as heretofore; on the contrary, he was passive, resigned, and at times even gentle in his manner—and now and then he would make use of his old nautical phraseology.
“I’m nearly done for,” said he to Knoulton, when they were closed in for the night. “It was a bad business your leaving me in the hands of that lubber. He went fast asleep, and it appears I jumped out of bed.”
“I’ve heard all about it. Don’t blame the chap; he was worn out and sleep overtook him—it’s no fault of his.”
“Well, perhaps not, when one comes to consider the matter; but I tell you what it is, Walter; my line is nearly worn out, my lad. There isn’t half a fathom to run reef. It’s hard for the likes of me to slip my wind in this narrow hammock—deuced hard. I should like to have been going free when I sprang my last for the long voyage.”
“Oh, you must not talk like that; with good nursing and proper attention you will recover,” cried Knoulton.
The pirate shook his head.
“No,” said he; “don’t deceive yourself, Walter. My log is made up, and I must founder; I know that by what the doctor said. He won’t be able to keep me afloat for many days longer. Now there’s a strange feeling about my heart and head which makes me sure that he gave the right heave of the lead. There, I feel stronger now than at any time since I first fell from that cursed wall; but,” added he, in a tone of sadness, “I’ve seen too many shipmates slip their cables not to know that’s my signal for sailing to the other world. Now don’t turn away your head, Walter, because my looks upon your face can’t be for long, and I don’t want them to be shortened. You’ve been good and true to me. We’ve only known each other since we’ve been in limbo, but for all that our friendship has been firm, ever since we first clapped eyes upon each other.”
“It has, and I hope better days are in store for both of us.”
“You are young and have only to sail in the right direction, and all will go well enough with you, my lad. I hope and trust it may, but as to this ere old hulk that’s quite a different matter; but I shouldn’t mind if I could be free. You see, Walter, I was very young when I first looked on the sea. I had seen no land then, and as I grew older it seemed to me to be the natural element for men to live on. I had the same thoughts of land as the long-shore people have of the sea, and I have often thought it strange when I have known messmates of mine who have done that, and brought them aboard again. Now when I overhauled it in my mind I have thought there must be something in the land which I had never fetched. I have many times lain and looked at the green fields, but never fancied they were the sea. No, Walter, never; but it would not become me to call them foolish as thought so much more about the land than the sea, for there may be something in home and friends and birthplaces which drains a man’s heart. There, ahead of all other things, I have never known any of them; for I was on the sea from the earliest days of my life, and should indeed be blessed if I could slip my cable on it now. But I dare say it’s pleasant, as I have heard many of my shipmates say, to be stowed away in an old churchyard which you played about when a boy, and where your kin and friends may always have an eye on your last berth, and the youngsters come and stick flowers on it. I dare say this is all very pleasant, but it is not a thing for me to look or hope for. I have neither family or kin of any sort, no old churchyard as I skylarked about, or youngsters to show their pretty remembrance that it ain’t a skulk that is under hatches. I must never leave these walls, even after death, and there’ll be no one to point out the spot where I lie.”