"Masters, I wish you would step on deck," said Hughes, "and send Wyzinski here." "Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, rising, and handing the basin and sponge to Hughes. "And, Masters, just ask Captain Weber for some arnica." The man disappeared up the hatchway. On deck all was bustle, the crew being busily engaged removing the traces of the late bloody affair. He found the missionary forward, but unable to leave a wounded seaman, so Masters knelt by his side and joined in the fervent but simple prayer over the dying man. An oil lamp gave out a feeble light in the fore-cabin, showing in one corner a large white sail. The heavy folds covered something, which bulging out here, falling in there, took the shape of the human form. The dead lay there, while, breathing heavily, his hand plucking at the coverlet, the dying seaman passed slowly away. His shirt was open, showing the jagged, ragged hole made by the Malay creese in the broad, hairy breast. The man spoke, but his tones were low. Masters leaned over him, and caught the faint eager tones. "Tell the skipper to heave up the anchor, and get into blue water. I know these fellows, and they'll come back." "Ay, ay, Sedley," answered the steward, "I'll tell him, sure enough." "Trouble not yourself about the brig, my poor fellow," said the missionary. "Prepare to meet your God." The man rolled restlessly from side to side, the hand ever plucking at the coarse blanket. "I've done my duty," he said. "There's no one left to ask after me in the old house at home, so I may slip my anchor as soon as I like." "Pray with me, Sedley," replied the missionary, and the faint light glanced and flickered over the dark cabin, making the white sail seem to take strange shapes, sometimes even to move; for the feeble daylight began to mingle with the yellow rays, and the dying sailor's lips parted in prayer, as he tossed wearily from side to side. It was a sad and solemn spectacle. A heavy step was heard coming down the fore-hatchway, and a moment later Captain Weber stood by the man's berth. He was without the tarpaulin hat he usually wore, and his forehead seamed with a broad bloody gash. "Ay, ay!" ejaculated the old seaman. "Four of them under yonder sail, and here goes a fifth." On deck the tread of the men was heard, the splash of the water as it was dashed about the stained decks, the loud, careless laugh, and now and then the "Yeo, heave oh!" followed by a splash, as the dawning day showed some corpse, hitherto overlooked, lying stiff and stark among the spars and rigging with which the deck was strewn. The dying man appeared to revive; he looked around him. "Heave up the anchor, captain! Fourteen years of Jack Sedley's life has been passed off this here coast. Heave up the anchor, and make sail on the old bark! Them murderous beggars will--"