'My head hurts,' complained Bill. He tried to raise it, and moaned a little. The elder man placed a hand gently on his shoulder. 'Don't you worry,' he said. 'You got hurted a little when the spar carried away. That's all.' 'Spar!' repeated Bill, and pondered. 'What watch is it?' 'Middle watch.' 'I thought I been on deck,' said Bill. 'It was blowin'.' His hands were groping about. 'Who bandaged my head?' 'The steward. They carried ye down into the cabin, first. Want a drink, Bill?' Bill assented, and the other, bracing himself against the chest, lifted the injured man's head slightly and he drank. 'I may as well go to sleep,' he said, and closed his eyes. Instantly he reopened them. 'Why ain't you on deck, Jansen?' he asked. 'The Old Man sent me in to sit by you.' Jansen fingered his long gray beard, and the bright eyes under the shaggy brows blinked uneasily. 'You see, it's this way, Bill. You was hurt, an' the Old Man thought mebbe you'd want something.' He looked at the swinging lantern as if seeking inspiration. 'Anything I can do for ye, Bill?' he asked at last. The other stirred. 'I can't move me legs,' he complained. 'Mebbe the spar hurt your back a little,' suggested Jansen timidly. 'You remember, don't ye, Bill?' Again the injured man pondered. 'Me back's broke?' he said finally, and Jansen nodded. 'Me back's broke, an' me head's broke,' Bill went on, 'an' there's a pain in me side like Dago knives.' 'D' ye want another drink?' asked Jansen. 'It's eight bells, an' my watch below for me,' said Bill; and again Jansen nodded. Silence fell. The muffled roar of the storm, the plunging forecastle, the waiting man on the chest, the dim light, the swinging lantern, the pendulous clothing, and the shadows, all seemed accessory to the great event about to take place. 'The pain in me side is awful!' groaned Bill; and Jansen shivered. 'The Old Man said he'd come for'ard as soon as he could leave the poop,' he said, as if hoping there might be comfort in the thought. 'I don't need him,' gasped the sufferer. 'I'm goin', I think.' Old Jansen folded his hands, and repeated the Lord's Prayer. Then he leaned forward. 'Is--is there anybody ashore you'd want me to write to?' he asked. 'No,' answered Bill between his moans. 'Me mother's dead, an' there's nobody else that matters. I never was no good to any of 'em.' After a time the moans ceased. A great sea boomed on the deck outside, and washed aft. The lantern swung violently, and the ship's bell tolled. Jansen looked into the bunk; Bill's eyes were fixed on him. 'I want to ask you, Jansen,' he said in a low voice. 'D'ye think there is any chance for me?' The other hesitated. 'I--I'm afraid not,' he stammered. 'I don't mean a chance to live,' explained Bill. 'I mean, d'ye think I've got to go to hell?' Jansen's tone grew positive. 'No,' he said, 'I don't.'