A ship’s lantern creaked and rocked from the beacon, throwing an uncertain light about the cabin. Ever and again the poop-windows were drenched and darkened by the waves that broke over the stern of the ship. Bess was half lying on her bunk, with her red cloak wrapped round her, Jeffray leaning against the bulkhead, with the _St. Thomas à Kempis_, that had been his father’s, open in his hand. Captain George looked at them as though half dazed, blood running down his face to soak into his ragged beard. “Well, captain, what news for us?” “News!” and the man laughed with a spasmodic croaking in the throat. “We’re going to the bottom as fast as the ship can take in water.” “The ship sinking!” Captain George’s hands had been working at the buckle of his belt. “Here, take it back, I say,” and he threw the belt and purse upon the floor; “take back your damned money. But for the gold I should be safe in the King Harry, and not here to drown like a rat.” Jeffray looked at Bess and then at the unnerved sot, who was leaning against the panelling by the door. A wave struck the ship full on the poop, breaking the glass in the windows, the black water pouring in upon the floor. The lamp flared and spluttered with the wind and spray, and the narrow cabin seemed full of the gurgling and plashing of the sea. Jeffray sprang forward and laid his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Come, man, are you going to drown without a fight?” The fellow shuddered, and shook the blood out of his eyes. “It ben’t any use,” he said, sullenly; “it ben’t any use.” “By God, man, where’s the English grit in you? Why aren’t the pumps working? We can’t be far from the French coast now.” Captain George shook off Jeffray’s hand. “Let be,” he said, savagely, “the men have got the liquor out. They’re sick of pumping, I tell ye, and they’re going down drunk, bad blood to ’em!” Jeffray stood back against the table and looked at the long-limbed sloven with a flash of scorn. The man had no courage left in him; he was sulky and sodden with his death grapple with the sea. Jeffray turned to the bunk where Bess was lying, took out his pistols from a valise, and levelled one of them calmly at the captain’s head. “Take down the lantern,” he said, quietly. The man stared at the muzzle of Jeffray’s pistol, and hesitated. “Take down the lantern, or by the love of God I’ll fire on you!” Captain George climbed the table, and, swaying from side to side, took down the lantern from its hook. Jeffray turned and spoke to Bess, steadying himself against the bunk as the ship rolled with the waves. “God keep you, dear; it may be our last chance! I must do my best.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I am not afraid of the dark,” she answered. Jeffray had thrown his cloak over his shoulders, and he kept his pistols covered so that the priming should not be damped in the pans. “Where are your men, captain?” “In the fo’c’sle.” “Lead on, and let me see what I can do with them.”