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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Still, I should be glad to have you gentlemen present, if only for a moment," insisted Darrow, presently. "Perhaps it would be as well on account of the patient," said the surgeon significantly. "Very well," assented the captain. The three went to Slade's cabin. He was lying propped up in his bunk. Trendon entered first, followed by the captain, then Darrow.
So far, so good: we may be 'appy yet. If only I had my cigarette supply. Once heard a botanist say that leaves of the white shore-willow made fair substitute for tobacco. Fair substitute for nux vomica! Would like to interview said botanist. "The fellow is a tobacco maniac," growled Trendon, feeling in his breast pocket. "The devil," he cried, bringing forth an empty hand.
"All right, my friend. Take it yourself, if you like," said Trendon. The fingers closed. Tremulously held, the little glass tilted and rattled against the teeth. There was one deep, eager spasm of swallowing. Then the fevered eyes opened upon the face of the Wolverine's first officer. "Prosit, Barnett," said the man, in a voice like the rasp of rusty metal.
Edwards's grave," commanded the captain. The coxswain saluted and gave an order. One of the sailors stepped forward to the first mound. "Not that one," rasped the officer. "The other." The man saluted and moved on. "With your permission, sir," said Trendon. On a nod from his superior officer he opened the ledger and took up Darrow's record. "Here it is. Entry of June 3d." "Everything lovely.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, that ain't rightly no flag. That's what you might rightly call a garment, sir. It's an undershirt, beggin' your pardon." "Black undershirt's a new one to me," muttered Trendon. "No, sir. It ain't rightly black, look." Wrenching the object from its fastenings, he flapped it violently. A cloud of sooty dust, beaten out, spread about his face.
"Place is all trampled up with his footprints," said Trendon. "He's plodded back and forth like a prisoner in a cell." "The ledger," said the captain. "I'd forgotten it. That grave drove everything else out of my mind." "Bring the book here," called Trendon. Congdon unwrapped it from his jacket and handed it to him. The sailors cast curious glances at the two headstones. "Mount guard over Mr.
The navy man straightened up as from a blow under the jaw. "Be careful what you are about," warned Trendon, addressing his superior officer sharply, for Barnett had all but let his charge drop. His face was a puckered mask of amaze and incredulity. "Did you hear him speak my name or am I dreaming?" he half whispered. "Heard him plain enough. Who is he?"
"Your man, Edwards the crew they left her? In the night?" "What does he mean?" cried Barnett. "The light! You saw it?" "Yes; we saw a strange light," answered Trendon soothingly. Slade half rose. "Lost; all lost!" he cried, and fell back unconscious. Trendon exploded into curses. "See what you've done to my patient," he fumed. Barnett looked at him with contrite eyes.
Only the captain got anything out of him but growling and unintelligible expressions, which seemed to be objurgatory and to express bewildered cogitation. "How long had poor Timmins been drowned?" the captain had asked him, and Trendon replied: "Captain Parkinson, the man wasn't drowned. No water in his lungs." "Not drowned! Then how came he by his death?"
"Let's see. Es wonnte sechs und dreissig unterjacke," he read. "Why, blast it, was the man running a haberdashery? What have three dozen undershirts to do with this?" "A memorandum for outfitting, probably," suggested the captain. "Try here." "Chemical formulae," said Trendon. The devil! Can't make a thing of it." "Well, here's something in English." "Good," said the other.
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