“What blamed fool is that tryin’ to get himself measured for a coffin?” he said.
The men were still asleep when Caleb reached the Ledge and threw open the door of the shanty,—all but Nickles, who was preparing breakfast. He looked at Caleb as if he had been an apparition, and followed him to the door of Captain Joe’s cabin, a little room by itself. He wanted to hear the dreadful news he brought. Unless some one was dead or dying no man would risk such a sea alone,—not even an old sailor like the diver.
Caleb opened the door of the captain’s little room and closed it tight behind him, without a word to the cook. The captain lay asleep in his bunk, one big arm under his head, his short curly hair matted close.
“Cap’n Joe,” said Caleb, laying his hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder and shaking him gently,—“Cap’n Joe, it’s me,—Caleb.”
The captain raised his head and stared at him. Then he sat upright, trying to collect his thoughts.
“Cap’n, I had to come for ye,—I want ye.”
“It ain’t Aunty Bell, is it?” said Captain Joe, springing to the floor. The early hour, the sough of the wind and beating of the rain on the roof of the shanty, Caleb dripping wet, with white drawn face, standing over him, told him in a flash the gravity of the visit.
“No, it’s my Betty. She’s gone,—gone without a word.”
“No, it’s my Betty”