The boatswain raised him by the shoulders, but his head hung back like a dead man's. I drew out my knife and inserted the blade between his teeth, and by this means contrived to introduce some brandy into his mouth, but it bubbled back again, which was a terrible sign, I thought; and still the tremors shook his poor body, and the eyes remained upturned, making the face most ghastly to see. "It's his heart broke," exclaimed the boatswain, in a tremulous voice. "Jim, what's the matter with 'ee, mate? You're not goin' to let the sight o' that Roosian murderer kill you? Come, come! God Almighty knows we've all had a hard fight for it, but we're not beat yet, lad. 'Tis but another spell o' waitin', and it'll come right presently. Don't let a gale o' wind knock the breath out o' you. What man as goes to sea but meets with reverses like this here? Swaller the brandy, Jim!... My God! Mr. Royle, he's dyin'!" As he said this Cornish threw up his arms and stiffened out his body. So strong was his dying action that he knocked the glass of brandy out of my hand and threw me backwards some paces. The pupils of his eyes rolled down, and a film came over them; he uttered something in a hoarse whisper, and lay dead on the boatswain's knee. I glanced at Miss Robertson. Her lips were tightly compressed, otherwise the heroic girl showed no emotion. The boatswain drew a deep breath and let the dead man's head fall gently on the flag. "For Miss Robertson's sake," I whispered, "let us carry him forward." He acquiesced in silence, and we bore the body off the poop and laid it on the fore-hatch. "There will be no need to bury him," said I. "No need and no time, sir. I trust God'll be merciful to the poor sailor when he's called up. He was made bad by them others, sir. His heart wasn't wrong," replied the boatswain. I procured a blanket from the forecastle and covered the body with it, and we then walked back to the poop slowly and without speaking. I felt the death of this man keenly. He had worked well, confronted danger cheerfully; he had atoned, in his untutored fashion, for the wrongs he had taken a part in--besides, the fellowship of peril was a tie upon us all, not to be sundered without a pang, which our hearts never would have felt had fate dealt otherwise with us. I stopped a moment with the boatswain to look at the steward before joining Miss Robertson. To many, I believe this spectacle of idiocy would have been more affecting than Cornish's death. He was tracing figures, such as circles and crosses, with his fore finger on the deck, smiling vacantly meanwhile, and now and then looking around him with rolling, unmeaning eyes. "How is it with you, my man?" I said. He gazed at me very earnestly, rose to his feet, and, taking my arm, drew me a short distance away from the boatswain. "A ship passed us just now, sir," he exclaimed in a whisper, and with a profoundly confidential air. "Did you see her?" "Yes, steward, I saw her."