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I

           Themomentofvainexclamationswaspast,too.IonlyclimbedonthesparesparandleanedovertherailasfarasIcould,tobringmyeyesnearertothatmysteryfloatingalongside.

           Ashehungbytheladder,likearestingswimmer,thesealightningplayedabouthislimbsateverystir;andheappearedinitghastly,silvery,fishlike.Heremainedasmuteasafish,too.Hemadenomotiontogetoutofthewater,either.Itwasinconceivablethatheshouldnotattempttocomeonboard,andstrangelytroublingtosuspectthatperhapshedidnotwantto.Andmyfirstwordswerepromptedbyjustthattroubledincertitude.

           “What’sthematter?”Iaskedinmyordinarytone,speakingdowntothefaceupturnedexactlyundermine.

           “Cramp,”itanswered,nolouder.Thenslightlyanxious,“Isay,noneedtocallanyone.”

           “Iwasnotgoingto,”Isaid.

           “Areyoualoneondeck?”

           “Yes.”

           Ihadsomehowtheimpressionthathewasonthepointoflettinggotheladdertoswimawaybeyondmyken—mysteriousashecame.But,forthemoment,thisbeingappearingasifhehadrisenfromthebottomofthesea(itwascertainlythenearestlandtotheship)wantedonlytoknowthetime.Itoldhim.Andhe,downthere,tentatively:

           “Isupposeyourcaptain’sturnedin?”

           “Iamsureheisn’t,”Isaid.

           Heseemedtostrugglewithhimself,forIheardsomethinglikethelow,bittermurmurofdoubt.“What’sthegood?”Hisnextwordscameoutwithahesitatingeffort.

           “Lookhere,myman.Couldyoucallhimoutquietly?”

           Ithoughtthetimehadcometodeclaremyself.

           “Iamthecaptain.

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