We had no decent grating big enough, so they had to get off one of the hatches, and use it instead. The wind had died away during the morning, and the sea was almost a calm--the ship lifting ever so slightly to an occasional glassy heave. The only sounds that struck on the ear were the soft, slow rustle and occasional shiver of the sails, and the continuous and monotonous creak, creak of the spars and gear at the gentle movements of the vessel. And it was in this solemn half-quietness that the Skipper read the burial service. They had put the Dutchman first upon the hatch (I could tell him by his stumpiness), and when at last the Old Man gave the signal, the Second Mate tilted his end, and he slid off, and down into the dark. "Poor old Dutchie," I heard one of the men say, and I fancy we all felt a bit like that. Then they lifted Jacobs on to the hatch, and when he had gone, Jock. When Jock was lifted, a sort of sudden shiver ran through the crowd. He had been a favourite in a quiet way, and I know I felt, all at once, just a bit queer. I was standing by the rail, upon the after bollard, and Tammy was next to me; while Plummer stood a little behind. As the Second Mate tilted the hatch for the last time, a little, hoarse chorus broke from the men: "S'long, Jock! So long, Jock!" And then, at the sudden plunge, they rushed to the side to see the last of him as he went downwards. Even the Second Mate was not able to resist this universal feeling, and he, too, peered over. From where I had been standing, I had been able to see the body take the water, and now, for a brief couple of seconds, I saw the white of the canvas, blurred by the blue of the water, dwindle and dwindle in the extreme depth. Abruptly, as I stared, it disappeared--too abruptly, it seemed to me. "Gone!" I heard several voices say, and then our watch began to go slowly forrard, while one or two of the other, started to replace the hatch. Tammy pointed, and nudged me. "See, Jessop," he said. "What is it?" "What?" I asked. "That queer shadow," he replied. "Look!" And then I saw what he meant. It was something big and shadowy, that appeared to be growing clearer. It occupied the exact place--so it seemed to me--in which Jock had disappeared. "Look at it!" said Tammy, again. "It's getting bigger!" He was pretty excited, and so was I. I was peering down. The thing seemed to be rising out of the depths. It was taking shape. As I realised what the shape was, a queer, cold funk took me. "See," said Tammy. "It's just like the shadow of a ship!" And it was. The shadow of a ship rising out of the unexplored immensity beneath our keel. Plummer, who had not yet gone forrard, caught Tammy's last remark, and glanced over. "What's 'e mean?" he asked. "That!" replied Tammy, and pointed. I jabbed my elbow into his ribs; but it was too late. Plummer had seen. Curiously enough, though, he seemed to think nothing of it.