His smile was lofty, his self-complacency inexpressible, you guessed if there had been a mirror at hand he would have admired himself in it. His talk, but not his face, was past the Frenchman's comprehension. He rolled his eyes upon Hardy, then upon a decanter half-full of rum, standing upon a swinging tray, timing the pulse of the sea. "He asks for a drink, sir," said Hardy. "Give him a tot," replied Captain Layard, "then let the second mate tell the bo'sun to find him a hole to lie down in. I don't like his looks." He walked abruptly to his berth, followed by the dog, but before he entered he turned to the animal and exclaimed, "On deck, Sailor, and keep a lookout till the smother thins," and the Newfoundland sprang up the steps. The Frenchman, with a smile at Hardy, touched his brow. The mate, without noticing the fellow's gesture, took the decanter of rum from the swing tray and gave him a glass of grog. As he handed the tumbler to the man, he said: "Was your captain the man who stood near the mizzen-rigging?" The Frenchman took a long pull at the glass before answering, and then said, "Yes." "Do you think he fell dead, or was he struck down?" said Hardy, looking critically at the wild and dangerous face, whose eyes stared into the Englishman's vision with the fixity of a buried bayonet. "He fell dead," was the answer, and down went the remainder of the grog. "I believe I saw a man rush from him aft when he fell," said Hardy. An expression of anger deepened the ugly devil's look of malevolence, but he held his peace. "Your captain is dead and you are here," said Hardy. "Your second mate will take charge of the barque, I suppose?" "Our second mate was drowned a week after we left the Cape," answered the Frenchman. "What will the crew do?" "They will go to hell!" "Follow me," said Hardy, and they climbed the companion-steps. The wind was sleeping. It was now a dead calm, and the fog steeped in night was lifting into the sight--conquering blackness off an ocean that seemed to be boiling upon some furnace of earth miles deep. Damp draughts of air blew with the rolling of the ship, and the canvas beat out hollow notes like the blasts of guns heard underground. The chief mate called the name of Mr. Candy, who stepped out of the impenetrable profound of the quarter. "This man," said Hardy, talking in the skylight sheen, "is mate of the barque we were foul of just now. Take him forward to the bo'sun and find him a bed anywhere, and food if he needs it." "I don't need it," said the Frenchman. "Come along," said Mr. Candy, and they disappeared.