he says, as to the manner of
execution and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly wound
up with the same formula that the murderer was still at large, though,
of course, the police had every reason to expect his speedy capture.
Certainly the incident seems to support Harton's theory, though it
may be a mere whim of Gorings, or, as I suggested to Harton, he may be
collecting materials for a book which shall outvie De Quincey. In any
case it is no business of ours.

October 27, 28.--Wind still fair, and we are making good progress.
Strange how easily a human unit may drop out of its place and be
forgotten! Tibbs is hardly ever mentioned now; Hyson has taken
possession of his cabin, and all goes on as before. Were it not for
Mrs. Tibbs's sewing-machine upon a side-table we might forget that the
unfortunate family had ever existed. Another accident occurred on board
to-day, though fortunately not a very serious one. One of our white
hands had gone down the afterhold to fetch up a spare coil of rope, when
one of the hatches which he had removed came crashing down on the top of
him. He saved his life by springing out of the way, but one of his feet
was terribly crushed, and he will be of little use for the remainder of
the voyage. He attributes the accident to the carelessness of his negro
companion, who had helped him to shift the hatches. The latter, however,
puts it down to the roll of the ship. Whatever be the cause, it reduces
our shorthanded crew still further. This run of ill-luck seems to be
depressing Harton, for he has lost his usual good spirits and joviality.
Goring is the only one who preserves his cheerfulness. I see him still
working at his chart in his own cabin. His nautical knowledge would be
useful should anything happen to Hyson--which God forbid!

October 29, 30.--Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. All quiet and
nothing of note to chronicle.

October 31.--My weak lungs, combined with the exciting episodes of the
voyage, have shaken my nervous system so much that the most trivial
incident affects me. I can hardly believe that I am the same man who
tied the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicest
precision, under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as nervous as a
child. I was lying half dozing last night about four bells in the middle
watch trying in vain to drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no light
inside my cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in thr