“Sleep!” echoed Carthew; and it seemed as if the whole of Shakespeare’s Macbeth thundered at the gallop through his mind.
“Well, then, we can’t sit and chitter here,” said Wicks, “till we’ve cleaned the ship; and I can’t turn to till I’ve had gin, and the gin’s in the cabin, and who’s to fetch it?”
“I will,” said Carthew, “if any one has matches.”
Amalu passed him a box, and he went aft and down the companion and into the cabin, stumbling upon bodies. Then he struck a match, and his looks fell upon two living eyes.
“Well?” asked Mac, for it was he who still survived in that shambles of a cabin.
“It’s done; they’re all dead,” answered Carthew.
“Christ!” said the Irishman, and fainted.
The gin was found in the dead captain’s cabin; it was brought on deck, and all hands had a dram, and attacked their further task. The night was come, the moon would not be up for hours; a lamp was set on the main hatch to light Amalu as he washed down decks; and the galley lantern was taken to guide the others in their graveyard business. Holdorsen, Hemstead, Trent, and Goddedaal were first disposed of, the last still breathing as he went over the side; Wallen followed; and then Wicks, steadied by the gin, went aloft with the boathook and succeeded in dislodging Hardy. The Chinaman was their last task; he seemed to be light-headed, talked aloud in his unknown language as they brought him up, and it was only with the splash of his sinking body that the gibberish ceased. Brown, by common consent, was left alone. Flesh and blood could go no further.
All this time they had been drinking undiluted gin like water; three bottles stood broached in different quarters; and none passed without a gulp. Tommy collapsed against the mainmast; Wicks fell on his face on the poop ladder and moved no more; Amalu had vanished unobserved. Carthew was the last afoot: he stood swaying at the break of the poop, and the lantern, which he still carried, swung with his movement. His head hummed; it swarmed with broken thoughts; memory of that day’s abominations flared up and died down within him like the light of a lamp in a strong draught. And then he had a drunkard’s inspiration.
“There must be no more of this,” he thought, and stumbled once more below.