“He shall die Catolique,” said she, “or----” And now, wanting words, she signed to let me know that, if he did not die Catolique, his soul went in danger. Happily, we had not language for argument. Her eyes sparkled; she looked at me hotly. There was the temper of the religious enthusiast in the whole manner of her. “Her uncle is a priest,” thought I. “There may be the blood of an Inquisitor in this fine woman,” I thought. “Ay, and even though she was my mistress, and I her impassioned sweetheart, and even though she loved me with the jealous heat of a Spanish heart, all the same is she just the sort of party to order me,” thought I, “to the stake, and watch me with an unmoved face while I was doing to a turn, if she supposed the burnt-offering of a shell-back would help her with the saints and give her Jack’s soul a true course.” Here poor Greaves, who had lain motionless, suddenly let out. He seemed to be hailing a boat. “Why the devil don’t you pull your larboard oars? You infernal lubbers! what’s the good of _all_ hands pulling to starboard? Look at the boat. _This_ is the ship, you fools--there! _Now_ ye’ve done it. Plague take ye. Twenty stone of prime beef foundered! Lower a boat and pick ’em up. Lower a boat and pick--lower a boat--lower----” “He shall die Catolique,” said Miss Aurora. In what faith he departed this life is known to his Maker. Greaves went under hatches next day, in the afternoon, at one o’clock. A strong wind was blowing, a high sea running, it was bitterly cold; the windward horizon was sullen with the black shadows of clouds, out of which the dark green seas ridged in hills, with such a toss of spray from every foaming head that the wind sparkled with the flying brine. The brig labored heavily. She was under small canvas, and the sea broke against her, in a sound of guns. I was watching her anxiously, intending, if it came harder, to heave her to. The blubbered face of Jimmy showed in the companion way. “Master,” said he, “the captain’s dead.” I spied Bol to leeward of the caboose, and bawled to him to lay aft, and stepped below. Yes, Greaves lay dead. The peace of eternity was upon his face, the peace that comes not until the noise of the clock falls upon the deaf ear. At every other moment the thick glass scuttle, through which the daylight came, rolled in thunder under water, and was hidden in whiteness; then a dark green shadow was in the cabin; then the light brightened, as the weeping glass was lifted. It was like being buried in the sea with the dead man, to stand in that cabin and listen to the roar of water round about, and mark the green dimness like daylight dying out.