unhooking the tackles, while some sort of squabble arose on the deck
amongst these weak, tottering spectres of a ship's company. The
captain, who had been for days living secluded and unapproachable in the
chart-room, came to the rail. He ordered the two men to come up on board
and menaced them with his revolver. They pretended to obey, but suddenly
cutting the boat's painter, gave a shove against the ship's side and
made ready to hoist the sail.

"Shoot, sir! Shoot them down!" cried Falk-"and I will jump overboard to
regain the boat." But the captain, after taking aim with an irresolute
arm, turned suddenly away.

A howl of rage arose. Falk dashed into his cabin for his own pistol.
When he returned it was too late. Two more men had leaped into the
water, but the fellows in the boat beat them off with the oars, hoisted
the boat's lug and sailed away. They were never heard of again.

Consternation and despair possessed the remaining ship's company,
till the apathy of utter hopelessness re-asserted its sway. That day a
fireman committed suicide, running up on deck with his throat cut from
ear to ear, to the horror of all hands. He was thrown overboard. The
captain had locked himself in the chart-room, and Falk, knocking vainly
for admittance, heard him reciting over and over again the names of his
wife and children, not as if calling upon them or commending them to
God, but in a mechanical voice like an exercise of memory. Next day the
doors of the chart-room were swinging open to the roll of the ship, and
the captain had disappeared. He must during the night have jumped into
the sea. Falk locked both the doors and kept the keys.

The organised life of the ship had come to an end. The solidarity of