“I am not afraid to die, but I wish there was a priest aboard—someone to help me to steady my thoughts. I believe in all that should make a man a good Christian. What’s the time?”
“A little after eight, sir.”
“What noise of hissing is that?”
“Grampuses have been blowing out to larboard; some may have come alongside.”
“Ay, me!” he cried. “There is the hand of the devil in this snatching away of my life now, when the days show brightly, and my head is full of plans of goodness. How about the money, Fielding?”
“What money, sir?”
“Mine, mine,” he exclaimed with irritation. “Yours you’ll keep and welcome, and don’t let the spending of it damn ye. Mine, I say. What’s to become of it? If I die, what’s to become of my money? Must it go to Tulp? By Isten, no, then!” he exclaimed, with a rather crazy laugh.
“Have you no relations?”
“Tulp’s no relation.”
“Have you no relation whatever?”