‘Kind o’ cork chips!’ exclaimed Nestor, taking up a handful and putting it to his nose. ‘Poof! smells like a chemist’s shop, full o’ camphor an’ drugs.’ ‘’Ere’s another box inside this un,’ said Bill, who had been groping amongst the odoriferous mass. And so it proved; another long, narrow case, also locked and hinged, made of some polished wood whose surface reflected dimly the faces bending over it. Subjected to similar treatment with its outer shell, it, too, soon yielded. As the lid, which was thickly padded, flew off under the pressure of the iron levers, the four men shrank away as if they had stumbled on a den of venomous serpents. On a strip of soft black velvet lay the shrouded corpse of a man. The grizzled head rested on a pillow, and the hands were crossed on the breast. Thin slats fitting athwartships kept the body in position. Although the eyes were closed, the features looked unnaturally natural. There even seemed to be a tinge of colour in the dead cheeks. But the artist had failed with the lips. The upper one had shrivelled and curled up over the white teeth, imparting a sardonic, grinning semblance to the whole face, unutterably ghastly to look upon, especially just then. This it was, and the life-like seeming of _It_, that frightened the cargo broachers so badly. And they _were_ terribly frightened. They were too frightened to run, even had running been practicable. But the man who attempts such tricks in a ship’s hold at night, and with a heavy head sea on, comes to rapid grief at the second step. So they just stood still, gripping each other’s arms, and swearing under their breath, as is the wont of the British seaman when badly scared. The old man, Nestor, was the first to speak. In quavering tones he said,— ‘It’s only a wax himmidge.’ ‘Nothin’ o’ the kind,’ replied Bill, the boldest of the group, letting go his hold and coming a little closer. ‘It’s a ’barmed corpus, that’s wot _It_ is. I was shipmates with one on ’em afore. A soger officer he were. He were lashed under the mizzen-top, an’ labelled “Combustibles; do not touch!” in big black letters. One fine mornin’ he come down by the run an’ busted the case. He was just the same’s this un, only they hadn’t put that howdacious grin on to him. It were in the old _Euryalus_, man-o’-war, so we had to suffer him; an’ a most hunlucky trip it were. Run her ashore twice. Took the sticks out on her twice. Lost four men overboard. No wonder _we’ve_ had three weeks o’ head winds. But this joker ’ll get a free passage without much delay, if I’ve got to give it him single-handed.’ So saying, he advanced, picked up the lid, and began to fasten it down. * * * * * The next morning dawned bright and clear; but the head wind still stood, and there was a nasty lump of a sea on. For the comparatively high latitude the air was warm and comfortable.