On hearing this announcement, he started to his feet, instantly throwing off all appearance of drunkenness, except that his eye was haggard and his cheek discoloured. He was a man of about fifty, of a stout build and a weather-beaten, bronzed face, rather full and good-humoured, certainly not giving one the notion that he was an habitual drunkard. His hair was somewhat long, and dishevelled and grizzled, from exposure to the atmosphere. "What! Jim not on board?" he exclaimed, rushing on deck. "Where is my boy--what has happened to him?" He stood for a few seconds leaning against the companion-hatch, while his eye scanned the condition of the vessel, and he seemed instinctively to comprehend what had happened. "Where is Jim?" he repeated, in a hollow voice. "I don't know, master," answered one of our men, whom he seemed to address. "We only found you two below. If there was another of you, he must have been washed overboard while you lay drunk in the cabin." "Drunk!" he ejaculated; "then, my son, I've murdered you." As he uttered these words he sprang to the side, and would have thrown himself overboard, had not Thole, who just then came on deck, caught him by the legs and dragged him forcibly back. The unhappy man struggled violently in his endeavour to perpetrate his intention. "Jim, Jim, my son! you gone--gone for ever; how can I go home and face your mother, my boy?" he cried, his bosom heaving with the passion raging within. Then he turned frantically to us, swearing oaths too frightful to repeat. "You've been murdering him, some of you, you bloody-handed king's officers. I know you of old. It's little you care for the life of a fellow-creature. Where is he, I say? I left him on deck sound and well, as fine a lad as ever stepped. How could he have gone overboard? He hadn't touched a drop; he was as sober as any one of you; but I know how it was, you chased him and he wouldn't give in--he stood at the helm like a man; so you, you cowardly hounds, shot him down as if he were a brute. There's his blood on the deck--the brave lad's blood, and you dabbling your feet in it--you, his murderers,--and laughing at me, his father."