roar of waters, and I was going swiftly down into the darkness. I let go of the winch, and struck out madly, trying to hold my breath. There was a loud singing in my ears. It grew louder. I opened my mouth. I felt I was dying. And then, thank God! I was at the surface, breathing. For the moment, I was blinded with the water, and my agony of breathlessness. Then, growing easier, I brushed the water from my eyes and so, not three hundred yards away, I made out a large ship, floating almost motionless. At first, I could scarcely believe I saw aright. Then, as I realised that indeed there was yet a chance of living, I started to swim towards you. You know the rest---- "And you think--?" said the Captain, interrogatively, and stopped short. "No," replied Jessop. "I don't think. I _know_. None of us _think_. It's a gospel fact. People _talk_ about queer things happening at sea; but this isn't one of them. This is one of the _real_ things. You've all seen queer things; perhaps more than I have. It depends. But they don't go down in the log. These kinds of things never do. This one won't; at least, not as it's really happened." He nodded his head, slowly, and went on, addressing the Captain more particularly. "I'll bet," he said, deliberately, "that you'll enter it in the log-book, something like this: "'May l8th. Lat.--S. Long.--W. 2 p.m. Light winds from the South and East. Sighted a full-rigged ship on the starboard bow. Overhauled her in the first dog-watch. Signalled her; but received no response. During the second dog-watch she steadily refused to communicate. About eight bells, it was observed that she seemed to be settling by the head, and a minute later she foundered suddenly, bows foremost, with all her crew. Put out a boat and picked up one of the men, an A.B. by the name of Jessop. He was quite unable to give any explanation of the catastrophe.' "And you two," he made a gesture at the First and Second Mates, "will probably sign your names to it, and so will I, and perhaps one of your A.B.s. Then when we get home they'll print a report of it in the newspapers, and people will talk about the unseaworthy ships. Maybe some of the experts will talk rot about rivets and defective plates and so forth." He laughed, cynically. Then he went on. "And you know, when you come to think of it, there's no one except our own selves will ever know how it happened--really. The shellbacks don't count. They're only 'beastly, drunken brutes of _common sailors_'--poor devils! No one would think of taking anything they said, as anything more than a damned cuffer. Besides, the beggars only tell these things when they're half-boozed. They wouldn't then (for fear of being laughed at), only they're not responsible--" He broke off, and looked round at us. The Skipper and the two Mates nodded their heads, in silent assent. APPENDIX _The Silent Ship_