In a confused way, I was conscious that the Skipper and the Mates were down among us, trying to get us into some state of calmness. Eventually they succeeded, and we were told to go aft to the Saloon door, which we did in a body. Here, the Skipper himself served out a large tot of rum to each of us. Then, at his orders, the Second Mate called the roll.

He called over the Mate’s watch first, and everyone answered. Then he came to ours, and he must have been much agitated; for the first name he sung out was Jock’s.

Among us there came a moment of dead silence, and I noticed the wail and moan of the wind aloft, and the flap, flap of the three unfurled t’gallan’s’ls.

The Second Mate called the next name, hurriedly:

“Jaskett,” he sung out.

“Sir,” Jaskett answered.

“Quoin.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Jessop.”

“Sir,” I replied.

“Stubbins.”

There was no answer.

“Stubbins,” again called the Second Mate.

Again there was no reply.

“Is Stubbins here?— anyone!” The Second’s voice sounded sharp and anxious.

There was a moment’s pause. Then one of the men spoke:

“He’s not here, Sir.”

“Who saw him last?” the Second asked.

Plummer stepped forward into the light that streamed through the Saloon doorway. He had on neither coat nor cap, and his shirt seemed to be hanging about him in tatters.

“It were me, Sir,” he said.

The Old Man, who was standing next to the Second Mate, took a pace towards him, and stopped and stared; but it was the Second who spoke.

“Where?” he asked.

“ ’e were just above me, in ther crosstrees, when, when —” the man broke off short.

“Yes! yes!” the Second Mate replied. Then he turned to the Skipper.

“Someone will have to go up, Sir, and see —” He hesitated.

“But —” said the Old Man, and stopped.

The Second Mate cut in.

“I shall go up, for one, Sir,” he said, quietly.

Then he turned back to the crowd of us.

“Tammy,” he sung out. “Get a couple of lamps out of the lamp-locker.”

“i, i, Sir,” Tammy replied, and ran off.

“Now,” said the Second Mate, addressing us. “I want a couple of men to jump aloft along with me and take a look for Stubbins.”

Not a man replied. I would have liked to step out and offer; but the memory of that horrible clutch was with me, and for the life of me, I could not summon up the courage.

“Come! come, men!” he said. “We can’t leave him up there. We shall take lanterns. Who’ll come now?”

I walked out to the front. I was in a horrible funk; but, for very shame, I could not stand back any longer.

“I’ll come with you, Sir,” I said, not very loud, and feeling fairly twisted up with nervousness.

“That’s more the tune, Jessop!” he replied, in a tone that made me glad I had stood out.

At this point, Tammy came up, with the lights. He brought them to the Second, who took one, and told him to give the other to me. The Second Mate held his light above his head, and looked round at the hesitating men.

“Now, men!” he sung out. “You’re not going to let Jessop and me go up alone. Come along, another one or two of you! Don’t act like a damned lot of cowards!”

Quoin stood out, and spoke for the crowd.

“I dunno as we’re actin’ like cowyards, Sir; but just look at ’im,” and he pointed at Plummer, who still stood full in the light from the Saloon doorway.

“What sort of a Thing is it ’as done that, Sir?” he went on. “An’ then yer arsks us ter go up agen! It aren’t likely as we’re in a ’urry.”

The Second Mate looked at Plummer, and surely, as I have before mentioned, the poor beggar was in a state; his ripped-up shirt was fairly flapping in the breeze that came through the doorway.

The Second looked; yet he said nothing. It was as though the realisation of Plummer’s condition had left him without a word more to say. It was Plummer himself who finally broke the silence.

“I’ll come with yer, Sir,” he said. “Only yer ought ter ’ave more light than them two lanterns. ’Twon’t be no use, unless we ’as plenty er light.”

The man had grit; and I was astonished at his offering to go, after what he must have gone through. Yet, I was to have even a greater astonishment; for, abruptly, The Skipper — who all this time had scarcely spoken — stepped forward a pace, and put his hand on the Second Mate’s shoulder.

“I’ll come with you, Mr. Tulipson,” he said.

The Second Mate twisted his head round, and stared at him a moment, in astonishment. Then he opened his mouth.

“No, Sir; I don’t think —” he began.

“That’s sufficient, Mr. Tulipson,” the Old Man interrupted. “I’ve made up my mind.”

He turned to the First Mate, who had stood by without a word.

“Mr. Grainge,” he said. “Take a couple of the ’prentices down with you, and pass out a box of blue-lights and some flare-ups.”

The Mate answered something, and hurried away into the Saloon, with the two ’prentices in his watch. Then the Old Man spoke to the men.

“Now, men!” he began. “This is no time for dilly-dallying. The Second Mate and I will go aloft, and I want about half a dozen of you to come along with us, and carry lights. Plummer and Jessop here, have volunteered. I want four or five more of you. Step out now, some of you!”

There was no hesitation whatever, now; and the first man to come forward was Quoin. After him followed three of the Mate’s crowd, and then old Jaskett.

“That will do; that will do,” said the Old Man.

He turned to the Second Mate.

“Has Mr. Grainge come with those lights yet?” he asked, with a certain irritability.

“Here, Sir,” said the First Mate’s voice, behind him in the Saloon doorway. He had the box of blue-lights in his hands, and behind him, came the two boys carrying the flares.

The Skipper took the box from him, with a quick gesture, and opened it.

“Now, one of you men, come here,” he ordered.

One of the men in the Mate’s watch ran to him.

He took several of the lights from the box, and handed them to the man.

“See here,” he said. “When we go aloft, you get into the foretop, and keep one of these going all the time, do you hear?”

“Yes, Sir,” replied the man.

“You know how to strike them?” the Skipper asked, abruptly.

“Yes, Sir,” he answered.

The Skipper sung out to the Second Mate:

“Where’s that boy of yours — Tammy, Mr. Tulipson?”

“Here, Sir,” said Tammy, answering for himself.

The Old Man took another light from the box.

“Listen to me, boy!” he said. “Take this, and stand-by on the forrard deck house. When we go aloft, you must give us a light until the man gets his going in the top. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” answered Tammy, and took the light.

“One minute!” said the Old Man, and stooped and took a second light from the box. “Your first light may go out before we’re ready. You’d better have another, in case it does.”

Tammy took the second light, and moved away.

“Those flares all ready for lighting there, Mr. Grainge?” the Captain asked.

“All ready, Sir,” replied the Mate.

The Old Man pushed one of the blue-lights into his coat pocket, and stood upright.

“Very well,” he said. “Give each of the men one apiece. And just see that they all have matches.”

He spoke to the men particularly:

“As soon as we are ready, the other two men in the Mate’s watch will get up into the cranelines, and keep their flares going there. Take your paraffin tins with you. When we reach the upper topsail, Quoin and Jaskett will get out on the yard-arms, and show their flares there. Be careful to keep your lights away from the sails. Plummer and Jessop will come up with the Second Mate and myself. Does every man clearly understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” said the men in a chorus.

A sudden idea seemed to occur to the Skipper, and he turned, and went through the doorway into the Saloon. In about a minute, he came back, and handed something to the Second Mate, that shone in the light from the lanterns. I saw that it was a revolver, and he held another in his other hand, and this I saw him put into his side pocket.

The Second Mate held the pistol a moment, looking a bit doubtful.

“I don’t think, Sir —” he began. But the Skipper cut him short.

“You don’t know!” he said. “Put it in your pocket.”

Then he turned to the First Mate.

“You will take charge of the deck, Mr. Grainge, while we’re aloft,” he said.

“i, i, Sir,” the Mate answered and sung out to one of his ’prentices to take the blue-light box back into the cabin.

The Old Man turned and led the way forrard. As we went, the light from the two lanterns shone upon the decks, showing the litter of the t’gallant gear. The ropes were foul of one another in a regular “bunch o’ buffers.” 1 This had been caused, I suppose, by the crowd trampling over them in their excitement, when they reached the deck. And then, suddenly, as though the sight had waked me up to a more vivid comprehension, you know, it came to me new and fresh, how damned strange was the whole business . . . I got a little touch of despair, and asked myself what was going to be the end of all these beastly happenings. You can understand?

Abruptly, I heard the Skipper shouting, away forrard. He was singing out to Tammy to get up on to the house with his blue-light. We reached the fore rigging, and, the same instant, the strange, ghastly flare of Tammy’s blue-light burst out into the night causing every rope, sail, and spar to jump out weirdly.

I saw now that the Second Mate was already in the starboard rigging, with his lantern. He was shouting to Tammy to keep the drip from his light clear of the staysail, which was stowed upon the house. Then, from somewhere on the port side, I heard the Skipper shout to us to hurry.

“Smartly now, you men,” he was saying. “Smartly now.”

The man who had been told to take up a station in the fore-top, was just behind the Second Mate. Plummer was a couple of ratlines lower.

I caught the Old Man’s voice again.

“Where’s Jessop with that other lantern?” I heard him shout.

“Here, Sir,” I sung out.

“Bring it over this side,” he ordered. “You don’t want the two lanterns on one side.”

I ran round the fore side of the house. Then I saw him. He was in the rigging, and making his way smartly aloft. One of the Mate’s watch and Quoin were with him. This, I saw as I came round the house. Then I made a jump, gripped the sheerpole, and swung myself up on to the rail. And then, all at once, Tammy’s blue-light went out, and there came, what seemed by contrast, pitchy darkness. I stood where I was — one foot on the rail and my knee upon the sheerpole. The light from my lantern seemed no more than a sickly yellow glow against the gloom, and higher, some forty or fifty feet, and a few ratlines below the futtock rigging on the starboard side, there was another glow of yellowness in the night. Apart from these, all was blackness. And then from above — high above — there wailed down through the darkness a weird, sobbing cry. What it was, I do not know; but it sounded horrible.

The Skipper’s voice came down, jerkily.

“Smartly with that light, boy!” he shouted. And the blue glare blazed out again, almost before he had finished speaking.

I stared up at the Skipper. He was standing where I had seen him before the light went out, and so were the two men. As I looked, he commenced to climb again. I glanced across to starboard. Jaskett, and the other man in the Mate’s watch, were about midway between the deck of the house and the foretop. Their faces showed extraordinary pale in the dead glare of the blue-light. Higher, I saw the Second Mate in the futtock rigging, holding his light up over the edge of the top. Then he went further, and disappeared. The man with the blue-lights followed, and also vanished from view. On the port side, and more directly above me, the Skipper’s feet were just stepping out of the futtock shrouds. At that I made haste to follow.

Then, suddenly, when I was close under the top, there came from above me the sharp flare of a blue-light, and almost in the same instant, Tammy’s went out.

I glanced down at the decks. They were filled with flickering, grotesque shadows cast by the dripping light above. A group of the men stood by the port galley door — their faces upturned and pale and unreal under the gleam of the light.

Then I was in the futtock rigging, and a moment afterwards, standing in the top, beside the Old Man. He was shouting to the men who had gone out on the craneline. It seemed that the man on the port side was bungling; but at last — nearly a minute after the other man had lit his flare — he got going. In that time, the man in the top had lit his second blue-light, and we were ready to get into the topmast rigging. First, however, the Skipper leant over the afterside of the top, and sung out to the First Mate to send a man up on to the fo’cas’le head with a flare. The Mate replied, and then we started again, the Old Man leading.

Fortunately, the rain had ceased, and there seemed to be no increase in the wind; indeed, if anything, there appeared to be rather less; yet what there was drove the flames of the flare-ups out into occasional, twisting serpents of fire at least a yard long.

About half-way up the topmast rigging, the Second Mate sung out to the Skipper, to know whether Plummer should light his flare; but the Old Man said he had better wait until we reached the cr............