pluck up courage. I accused myself of getting fanciful; otherwise I
should have tumbled to it earlier. And then, funnily enough, in spite of
all my reasoning, I was still afraid of going aft to discover who that
was, standing on the lee side of the maindeck. Yet I felt that if I
shirked it, I was only fit to be dumped overboard; and so I went, though
not with any great speed, as you can imagine.

I had gone half the distance, and still the figure remained there,
motionless and silent--the moonlight and the shadows playing over it
with each roll of the ship. I think I tried to be surprised. If it were
one of the fellows playing the fool, he must have heard me coming, and
why didn't he scoot while he had the chance? And where could he have
hidden himself, before? All these things, I asked myself, in a rush,
with a queer mixture of doubt and belief; and, you know, in the
meantime, I was drawing nearer. I had passed the house, and was not
twelve paces distant; when, abruptly, the silent figure made three quick
strides to the port rail, and _climbed over it into the sea_.

I rushed to the side, and stared over; but nothing met my gaze, except
the shadow of the ship, sweeping over the moonlit sea.

How long I stared down blankly into the water, it would be impossible to
say; certainly for a good minute. I felt blank--just horribly blank. It
was such a beastly confirmation of the _unnaturalness_ of the thing I
had concluded to be only a sort of brain fancy. I seemed, for that
little time, deprived, you know, of the power of coherent thought. I
suppose I was dazed--mentally stunned, in a way.

As I have said, a minute or so must have gone, while I had been staring
into the dark of the water under the ship's side. Then, I came suddenly