The Old Man, who was standing next to the Second Mate, took a pace towards him, and stopped and stared; but it was the Second who spoke. "Where?" he asked. "'e were just above me, in ther crosstrees, when, when--" the man broke off short. "Yes! yes!" the Second Mate replied. Then he turned to the Skipper. "Someone will have to go up, Sir, and see--" He hesitated. "But--" said the Old Man, and stopped. The Second Mate cut in. "I shall go up, for one, Sir," he said, quietly. Then he turned back to the crowd of us. "Tammy," he sung out. "Get a couple of lamps out of the lamp-locker." "i, i, Sir," Tammy replied, and ran off. "Now," said the Second Mate, addressing us. "I want a couple of men to jump aloft along with me and take a look for Stubbins." Not a man replied. I would have liked to step out and offer; but the memory of that horrible clutch was with me, and for the life of me, I could not summon up the courage. "Come! come, men!" he said. "We can't leave him up there. We shall take lanterns. Who'll come now?" I walked out to the front. I was in a horrible funk; but, for very shame, I could not stand back any longer. "I'll come with you, Sir," I said, not very loud, and feeling fairly twisted up with nervousness. "That's more the tune, Jessop!" he replied, in a tone that made me glad I had stood out. At this point, Tammy came up, with the lights. He brought them to the Second, who took one, and told him to give the other to me. The Second Mate held his light above his head, and looked round at the hesitating men. "Now, men!" he sung out. "You're not going to let Jessop and me go up alone. Come along, another one or two of you! Don't act like a damned lot of cowards!" Quoin stood out, and spoke for the crowd. "I dunno as we're actin' like cowyards, Sir; but just look at _'im_," and he pointed at Plummer, who still stood full in the light from the Saloon doorway. "What sort of a Thing is it 'as done that, Sir?" he went on. "An' then yer arsks us ter go up agen! It aren't likely as we're in a 'urry." The Second Mate looked at Plummer, and surely, as I have before mentioned, the poor beggar was in a state; his ripped-up shirt was fairly flapping in the breeze that came through the doorway. The Second looked; yet he said nothing. It was as though the realisation of Plummer's condition had left him without a word more to say. It was Plummer himself who finally broke the silence. "I'll come with yer, Sir," he said. "Only yer ought ter 'ave more light than them two lanterns. 'Twon't be no use, unless we 'as plenty er light." The man had grit; and I was astonished at his offering to go, after what he must have gone through. Yet, I was to have even a greater astonishment; for, abruptly, The Skipper--who all this time had scarcely spoken--stepped forward a pace, and put his hand on the Second Mate's shoulder. "I'll come with you, Mr. Tulipson," he said.