“One moment,” said Sir Humphrey. “The second mate slept in your cabin?”
“Yes, sir. I see what you mean. Did I see him? Yes, I did, fast asleep and snoring, with his back to me.”
“And when you went down again he was not there?”
“That’s it, gentlemen,” said the captain, breaking in; “and he’s not aboard now. There’s only one way o’ looking at it: the poor fellow must have been took bad in the night, got up and gone on deck, and fell overboard.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Brace.
“That’s right, sir. Soon as Richard Dellow here found it out he come up to me on deck and give me a horrid turn. ‘Poor Jem’s drowned,’ he says, ‘for he aren’t down below.’”
“But have you thoroughly searched the vessel?” cried Brace.
“Searched, squire?” replied the captain. “Where is there to search? He wasn’t here, and as soon as I could think a bit I let go the anchor, for we must go back to Johnstown and give notice, so that an enquiry can be made. Not that there’s anything to enquire about, for it’s all as plain as a pikestaff. I don’t know what I could be thinking about to let him go, when he ought to have been aboard at his work; but I didn’t want to be hard. There, you know all we know, gen’lemen, and as soon as the tide begins to make we must run back to port, for we can’t do anything more till that bit o’ business is settled.”
Sir Humphrey and his brother were silent, for there seemed to be nothing to say in face of such a terrible catastrophe; and, as if moved by a mutual desire to separate, while the brothers walked forward towards where the crew were gathered together watching them, the captain and mate went aft, the former shaking his head sadly, the latter looking terribly depressed and out of heart.