‘Wheel there!’ he shouted, running aft as he cried. ‘What are you doing with the ship? Port your hellum, man, port your hellum!’
I hastily followed, to see what was the matter. The wheel was deserted, and as I approached, I saw the circle revolve against the stars over the taffrail like a windmill in a gale. Alongside, prone on the deck, his arms outstretched and his face down, was the figure of the helmsman.
‘He is in a fit,’ cried the second mate, grasping the wheel and revolving it, to bring the ship to her course again.
Here Captain Keeling came hastily up the companion steps.
‘Where’s the officer of the watch?’ he shouted.
‘Here, sir,’ answered Cocker from the wheel.
‘Do you know, sir,’ cried the skipper, ‘that you are four points off your course?’
‘The helmsman has fallen down in a fit, or else lies dead here, sir,’ responded the second-mate.
The skipper saw how it was, and bawled for some hands to come aft. Such of the passengers as were on deck gathered about the wheel in a group.
‘What is that?’ exclaimed little Mr. Saunders, stooping close to the prostrate seaman’s head. ‘Blood, gentlemen!’ he exclaimed. ‘See the great stain of it here! This man has been struck down by some hand.’