The Villingen was still under reefed upper topsails, walking into the
seas on a taut bowline, with water coming aboard freely. There was
little for the watch to do save those trivial jobs which never fail
on a ship. Conroy and some of the others were set to scrubbing teak
on the poop, and he had a view of the sail-maker at his work on the
gratings under the break of the poop, stitching on his knees to make
the mate presentable for his last passage. The sailmaker was a
bearded Finn, with a heavy, darkling face and the secret eyes of a
faun. He bent over his task, and in his attitude and the slow rhythm
of his moving hand there was a suggestion of ceremonial, of an act
mysterious and ritual.

Half-way through the morning, Conroy was sent for to the cabin, there
to tell his tale anew, to see it taken down, and to sign it. The
captain even asked him if he felt better.

"Thank you, sir," replied Conroy. "It was a shock, findin' him dead
like that."

"Yes, yes," agreed the captain. "I can understand--a great shock.
Yes!"

He was bending over his papers at the table; Conroy smiled over his
bowed head. Returning on deck, he winked to the man at the wheel, who
smiled uncomfortably in return. Later he borrowed a knife to scrape
some spots of paint off the deck; he did not want to spoil the edge
of his own.

They buried the mate at eight bells; the weather was thickening, and
it might be well to have the thing done. The hands stood around,
bareheaded, with the grating in the middle of them, one edge resting
on the rail, the other supported by two men. There was a dark smudge
on the sky up to windward, and several times the captain glanced up
from his book towards it. He read in German slowly, with a dwelling
upon the sonorous passages, and towards the end he closed the book
and finished without its aid.

Conroy was at the foot of the ladder; the captain was above him,
reading mournfully, solemnly, without looking at the men. They were
rigid, only their eyes moving. Conroy collected their glances
irresistibly. When the captain had finished his reading he sighed and
made a sign, lifting his hand like a man who resigns himself. The men
holding the grating tilted it; the mate of the Villingen, with a
little jerk, went over the side.

"Shtand by der tobs'l halliards!" roared the second mate.

Conroy, in the flurry, found himself next to a man of his watch. He
jerked a thumb in the direction of the second mate, who was stil