Dead Men Tell No Tales

My floating coffin was many things in turn; a railway carriage, a pleasure boat on the Thames, a hammock under the trees; last of all it was the upper berth in a not very sweet-smelling cabin, with a clatter of knives and forks near at hand, and a very strong odor of onions in the Irish stew.

My hand crawled to my head; both felt a wondrous weight; and my head was covered with bristles no longer than those on my chin, only less stubborn.

"Where am I?" I feebly asked.

The knives and forks clattered on, and presently I burst out crying because they had not heard me, and I knew that I could never make them hear. Well, they heard my sobs, and a huge fellow came with his mouth full, and smelling like a pickle bottle.

"Where am I?"

"Aboard the brig Eliza, Liverpool, homeward bound; glad to see them eyes open."

"Have I been here long?"

"Matter o' ten days."

"Where did you find me?"

"Floating in a hen-coop; thought you was a dead 'un."

"Do you know what ship?"

"Do we know? No, that's what you've got to tell us!"

"I can't," I sighed, too weak to wag my head upon the pillow.

The man went to my cabin door.

"Here's a go," said he; "forgotten the name of his blessed ship, he has. Where's that there paper, Mr. Bowles? There's just a chance it may be the same."

"I've got it, sir."

"Well, fetch it along, and come you in, Mr. Bowles; likely you may think o' somethin'."

A reddish, hook-nosed man, with a jaunty, wicked look, came and smiled upon me in the friendliest fashion; the smell of onions became more than I knew how to endure.

"Ever hear of the ship Lady Jermyn?" asked the first corner, winking at the other.

I thought very hard, the name did sound familiar; but no, I could not honestly say that I had beard it before.

The captain looked at his mate.

"It was a thousand to one," said he; "still we may as well try him with the other names. Ever heard of Cap'n Harris, mister?"

"Not that I know of."

"Of Saunderson-stooard?"

"No."

"Or Crookes-quartermaster."

"Never."

"Nor yet of Ready—a passenger?"

"No."

"It's no use goin' on," said the captain folding up the paper.

"None whatever, sir," said the mate

"Ready! Ready!" I repeated. "I do seem to have heard that name before. Won't you give me another chance?"

The paper was unfolded with a shrug.

"There was another passenger of the name of San-Santos. Dutchman, seemin'ly. Ever heard o' him?"

My disappointment was keen. I could not say that I had. Yet I would not swear that I had not.

"Oh, won't you? Well, there's only one more chance. Ever heard of Miss Eva Denison—"

"By God, yes! Have you?"

I was sitting bolt upright in my bunk. The skipper's beard dropped upon his chest.

"Bless my soul! The last name o' the lot, too!"

"Have you heard of her?" I reiterated.

"Wait a bit, my lad! Not so fast. Lie down again and tell me who she was."

"Who she was?" I screamed. "I want to know where she is!"

"I can't hardly say," said the captain awkwardly. "We found the gig o' the Lady Jermyn the week arter we found you, bein' becalmed like; there wasn't no lady aboard her, though."

"Was there anybody?"

"Two dead 'uns—an' this here paper."

"Let me see it!"

The skipper hesitated.

"Hadn't you better wait a bit?"

"No, no; for Christ's sake let me see the worst; do you think I can't read it in your face?"

I could—I did. I made that plain to them, and at last I had the paper smoothed out upon my knees. It was a short statement of the last sufferings of those who had escaped in the gig, and there was nothing in it that I did not now expect. They had buried Ready first—then my darling—then her step-father. The rest expected to follow fast enough. It was all written plainly, on a sheet of the log-book, in different trembling hands. Captain Harris had gone next; and two had been discovered dead.

How long I studied that bit of crumpled paper, with the salt spray still sparkling on it faintly, God alone knows. All at once a peal of nightmare laughter rattled through the cabin. My deliverers started back. The laugh was mine.

CHAPTER VI. THE SOLE SURVIVOR

A few weeks later I landed in England, I, who no longer desired to set foot on any land again.

At nine-and-twenty I was gaunt and gray; my nerves were shattered, my heart was broken; and my face showed it without let or hindrance from the spirit that was broken too. Pride, will, courage, and endurance, all these had expired in my long and lonely battle with the sea. They had kept me alive-for this. And now they left me naked to mine enemies.