No doubt, seeing his fellow taken away, the other, who was one of the best of the crew, lost heart.
“I’m dying, sir,” he told Halcott. “No use swallowing physic, the others’ll want it soon.”
By-and-by he began to rave. He was on board ship no longer, but walking through the meadows and fields far away in England with his sister by his side.
“I’ll help you over the old-fashioned stile,” Fitz, who was nursing him, heard him say—“yes, the old-fashioned stile, Lizzie. Oh, don’t I love it! And we’ll walk up and away through the corn-field, by the little, winding path, to the churchyard where mother sleeps. Look, look at the crimson poppies, dear siss. How bonnie they are among the green. Ah-h!”
That was a scream which frightened poor Fitz.
“Go not there, sister. See, see, the monster has killed her! Ah, me!”
Fitz rushed aft to seek for assistance, for the captain had told him to call him if Corrie got worse.
Alas! when the two returned together, Corrie’s hammock was empty.
No one had heard even a plash, so gently had he lowered himself over the side, and sunk to rise no more.