I had got over the choking in my throat with the help of a drop of water,
and had steadied my mind again so as to be prepared against the worst,
when I heard the hail (Lord help the poor fellows, how weak it sounded!)--

"Surf-boat, ahoy!"

I looked up, and there were our companions in misfortune tossing abreast
of us; not so near that we could make out the features of any of them,
but near enough, with some exertion for people in our condition, to make
their voices heard in the intervals when the wind was weakest.

I answered the hail, and waited a bit, and heard nothing, and then sung
out the captain's name. The voice that replied did not sound like his;
the words that reached us were:

"Chief-mate wanted on board!"

Every man of my crew knew what that meant as well as I did. As second
officer in command, there could be but one reason for wanting me on board
the Long-boat. A groan went all round us, and my men looked darkly in
each other's faces, and whispered under their breaths:

"The captain is dead!"

I commanded them to be silent, and not to make too sure of bad news, at
such a pass as things had now come to with us. Then, hailing the Long-
boat, I signified that I was ready to go on board when the weather would
let me--stopped a bit to draw a good long breath--and then called out as
loud as I could the dreadful question: