Astern the sloop lay with tall clothed masts, swaying, a phantom on the troubled waters. A boat had put off from her, and was bucking towards him. "Lugger ahoy!" came a windy voice across the water. "Is that you, sir?--all well?" "I'm all right," cried the boy, and was ashamed to find his voice cracked with emotion. The boat bumped alongside. Reuben Boniface's face popped up over the side. "Plucky thing, sir!" he cried, bobbing with the boat; then seeing the man at the tiller--"Ah, Bert! a fair cop." "He's dead," said the boy with a sob. "Dead!" cried the other, thrusting forward. "By thunder! so he is. Boys, Black Diamond's dead!" He took the dead man by the hand. "Poor old mate!" he continued in hushed voice. "Fancy that now. Diamond dead!" Another head bobbed up. "Did you kill him, sir?" asked an awed voice. "No, I didn't. I think it was this man. He killed Black Diamond; and Black Diamond killed him back." His heart was swollen almost to bursting. A row of heads now bobbed all along the side, staring at the dead man. It awed them, this lay-figure with the dreadful stillness brooding about it, rocking with the rock of the sea. They spoke of it with lowered voices reverently. "Funny thing--him so quiet. Don't seem nat'ral like." "Warn't like that ten minutes since." "That Black Diamond!--and can't lift his own hand now!" "Ah, makes a change, Death, don't it?" "One thing sure," ended a philosopher. "Like it or not--sooner or later--in this world we all gets our desarts." So these solemn children, big of the sea, brooded over the Great Mystery. Here _they_ were in the dark, the night blind about them, the old sea roaming round; and here was _It_. Dimly they tried to apprehend _It_. Somehow _It_ made them feel strangely small, and somehow strangely great. Reuben was still pumping the dead man's hand up and down, the tears coursing down his face. "Poor old mate!" he kept saying. "He'd not ha been the same if things had been different--would you, old mate?--I wish I'd ha shook hands with you now, I do." A shuddering voice spoke from the boat. It was the broken blockade-man. "Ow much is he dead?" he asked. "Why, dead as dirt," replied a matter-of-fact fellow, chewing his pig-tail phlegmatically. "Sure he ain't learying?" came the voice of the man with the shivers. "You fear'd on him still, Alf?" asked one curiously. "Fear'd on him?--No, I ain't fear'd on him!" came a ghastly titter. "Got no cause, ave I?" "He won't urt you," replied the other, soothingly. "He's dead all right--ain't you, Diamond?--You can tweak his nose, see?--and then go ome, and tell the gals what you done. Tweak Black Diamond by the conk!" "You let him be!" growled Reuben. "Time was you'd ha crawled to him. Now any snotty little toad can make game on him." Kit looked up at the rising voices. A fellow had seized Diamond by the nose, plucking back his head. The dead man's mouth gaped. Into the cavern of it shone the moon.