‘But did he brag of his evil doings in the forecastle before the men?’ I asked.
‘No; Chips had been shipmate with him two voyages ago in a small craft, and he afterwards met him ashore in several of the low sailors’ haunts down in the east end of London. When he had too much drink, he would out with the most blood-curdling tales of atrocity. No, sir; he kept his counsel aboard this ship. He knew what would have followed had his career been suspected by us aft.’
‘When do you bury him?’ said I.
‘To-morrow morning, I suppose,’ he answered. ‘Captain Keeling is averse to hasty funerals. I’ve heard him say that when he was chief mate, a man died, and two hours later the body had been stitched up ready for the last toss; but whilst the captain was looking for his Prayer-book, the boatswain of the ship came rushing aft with his hair on end and his eyes half out of his head to report that the hammock with its contents had rolled off the grating on which it was placed, and was wriggling about the deck. When it was cut open, the fellow inside was found to be alive, bathed in perspiration and half-mad with fright.’
This conversation we had carried on in a low voice, easily managed, as I sat on his right hand close against him. A few minutes later the mate went on to the poop, and I stepped to the quarter-deck to smoke a cheroot. Whilst I was preparing the weed to light it, Dr. Hemmeridge came out of the cuddy.
‘You may be interested to know,’ said he, ‘that your ugly friend is dead.’
‘And that is what you wished to convey to me by winking?’ said I.
He nodded with a smile that could scarcely be called sober. ‘You took a particular interest in him,’ he exclaimed, ‘and so I thought I would give you the news before I made my report to the captain.’
‘You are very good,’ I exclaimed with a sarcastic bow.
‘In fact, Mr. Dugdale,’ he continued, ‘I am going to pay another visit to the forecastle, as there is something in the manner of this fellow’s death that puzzles me. Indeed, it is as likely as not I may make a post-mortem examination.’ Here he lifted his hand and eyed it an instant. I noticed that it trembled. He immediately grew conscious of his action, blushed slightly, and spoke with a note of confusion: ‘The devil of it is, the Jacks object to this sort of inquisitions. Then, again, the light forward is abominably bad, and there is too much risk when there are ladies aboard in any attempt to smuggle the body aft. Would you like to see the man? You admired him in life, you know.’