er,
and seated himself astride of it, just abaft the T-shaped projection in
the middle. The long cylinder sank with him, and when it had steadied
to a balance between his weight and its buoyancy he found that it bore
him, shoulders out; and the position he had taken--within reach of the
levers behind him--lifted the blunt nose higher than the stern, but not
out of water. This was practicable.

He reached behind, raised the blade lever, threw back the large brass
lever, and the craft went ahead, at about the speed of a healthy man's
walk. He kept his left hand on the blade lever to hold it up, and by
skilful paddling with his right maintained his balance and assisted his
legs in steering. He had never learned to swim, but he felt less fear
of drowning than of slow death on the island.

In five minutes he was near enough to the steamer to read her name. He
pulled the starting-lever forward, stopping his headway; for he must be
sure of his welcome.

"Say, boss," he called faintly and hoarsely, "take me along, can't you?
Or else gi' me some medicine. I'm blamed sick--I'll die if I stay
here."

The noise of the windlass and chain prevented this being heard, but at
last, after repeated calls on his part, a Spanish howl went up from
amidships, and a sailor sprang from one of the boats to the deck,
crossed himself, and pointing to the man in the water, ran forward.

"Madre de Dios!" he yelled. "El aparecido del muerto."

Work stopped, and a call down a hatchway stopped the windlass. In ports
and dead-lights appeared faces; and those on deck, officers and men,
crowded to the rail, some to cross themselves, some to sink on their
knees, others to grip the rail tightly, while they stared in silence at
the torso and livid face in the moonlight on the sea--the ghastly face
of the man they had marooned to die alone, who had been seen later dead
on the beach.

"Take me with you, boss," he pleaded with his weak voice. "I'm sick; I
can't hold on much longer."

It was not the dead man's body washed out from the beach, for it moved,
it spoke. And it was not a living man; no man may recover from advanced
yellow fever, and this man had been found afterward, dead--cold and
still. And no living man may swim in this manner--high out of water,
patting and splashing with one hand. It was a ghost. It had come to
punish them.

"Por que nos atormentan asi, hombre, deja?" cried a white-faced
officer.

"Can't you hear me?" asked the appa