Again the injured man pondered. 'Me back's broke?' he said finally, and Jansen nodded.
'Me back's broke, an' me head's broke,' Bill went on, 'an' there's a pain in me side like Dago knives.'
'D' ye want another drink?' asked Jansen.
'It's eight bells, an' my watch below for me,' said Bill; and again Jansen nodded.
Silence fell. The muffled roar of the storm, the plunging forecastle, the waiting man on the chest, the dim light, the swinging lantern, the pendulous clothing, and the shadows, all seemed accessory to the great event about to take place.
'The pain in me side is awful!' groaned Bill; and Jansen shivered.
'The Old Man said he'd come for'ard as soon as he could leave the poop,' he said, as if hoping there might be comfort in the thought.
'I don't need him,' gasped the sufferer. 'I'm goin', I think.'
Old Jansen folded his hands, and repeated the Lord's Prayer. Then he leaned forward. 'Is—is there anybody ashore you'd want me to write to?' he asked.
'No,' answered Bill between his moans. 'Me mother's dead, an' there's nobody else that matters. I never was no good to any of 'em.'