"Have you seen Skelt, sir?"
"Seen Skelt!" roared the mate. "What the hell do you take me for? D'you think I know where every perishin' son of a cock-eyed monkey aboard this packet is?"
"He was going to murder the Captain, sir. I couldn't get away before, as all the others were watching me. I only got out now because they think he's funked it."
"Goin' to murder—here, fetch the second-mate up, quick!"
The man hurried to Smith's cabin and roused out the sleeping occupant, who stumbled up to the bridge vomiting profanity of varied hues.
"Get aft!" shouted the mate, "they're murderin' the old man."
Smith turned and dashed off to the Captain's cabin, which he entered without even the ceremony of knocking. It was empty, but from a small room adjoining came the sound of stentorian snores.
"Blimey!" muttered Smith, glancing round him. "He don't sound as if he were dead."
His eye fell on the ship's log which lay open on the table. Instinctively he glanced at it and, under the entry for the day, read the following:
"Jasper Skelt, boatswain of the barque Esmeralda. Died at sea. Cause, misadventure."