“I don't know, sir. He was walking the port side. Then just as he turned towards me to come aft...”
“You saw him?” interrupted the captain.
“I did. I was looking at him. And I heard the crash, too—something awful. Like the mainmast going overboard. It was as if something had struck him.”
Captain Johns became very uneasy and alarmed. “Come,” he said sharply. “Did anybody strike him? What did you see?”
“Nothing, sir, so help me! There was nothing to see. He just gave a little sort of hallo! threw his hands before him, and over he went—crash. I couldn't hear anything more, so I just let go the wheel for a second to call you up.”
“You're scared!” said Captain Johns. “I am, sir, straight!”
Captain Johns stared at him. The silence of his ship driving on her way seemed to contain a danger—a mystery. He was reluctant to go and look for his mate himself, in the shadows of the main-deck, so quiet, so still.
All he did was to advance to the break of the poop, and call for the watch. As the sleepy men came trooping aft, he shouted to them fiercely:
“Look at the foot of the port poop-ladder, some of you! See the mate lying there?”
Their startled exclamations told him immediately that they did see him. Somebody even screeched out emotionally: “He's dead!”