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them.

  "He's a furriner," said Roberts.

  "Blest if I've ever 'eard the lingo afore," said Bill. "Does anybodyrekernize it?"

  Nobody did, and the skipper, after another attempt, gave it up, and,falling back upon the universal language of signs, pointed first to theman and then to the sea. The other understood him, and, in a heavy,slovenly fashion, portrayed a man drifting in an open boat, and clutchingand clambering up the side of a passing ship. As his meaning dawned uponus, we rushed to the stern, and, leaning over, peered into the gloom, butthe night was dark, and we saw nothing.

  "Well," said the skipper, turning to Bill, with a mighty yawn, "take himbelow, and give him some grub, and the next time a gentleman calls onyou, don't make such a confounded row about it."

  He went below, followed by the mate, and after some slight hesitation,Roberts stepped up to the intruder, and signed to him to follow. He camestolidly enough, leaving a trail of water on the deck, and, afterchanging into the dry things we gave him, fell to, but without muchappearance of hunger, upon some salt beef and biscuits, regarding usbetween bites with black, lack-lustre eyes.

  "He seems as though he's a-walking in his sleep," said the cook.

  "He ain't very hungry," said one of the men; "he seems to mumble hisfood."

  "Hungry!" repeated Bill, who had just left the wheel. "Course he ain'tfamished. He had his tea last night."

  The men stared at him in bewilderment.

  "Don't you see?" said Bill, still in a hoarse whisper; "ain't you everseen them eyes afore? Don't you know what he used to say about dying?It's Jem Dadd come back to us. Jem Dadd got another man's body, as healways said he would."

  "Rot!" said Roberts, trying to speak bravely, but he got up, and, withthe others, huddled together at the end of the fo'c's'le, and stared in abewildered fashion at the sodden face and short, squat figure of ourvisitor. For his part, having finished his meal, he pushed his platefrom him, and, leaning back on the locker, looked at the empty bunks.

  Roberts caught his eye, and, with a nod and a wave of his hand, indicatedthe bunks. The fellow rose from the locker, and, amid a breathlesssilence, climbed into one of them--Jem Dadd's!

  He slept in the dead sailor's bed that night, the only man in thefo'c's'le who did sleep properly, and turned out heavily and lumpishly inthe morning for breakfast.

  The skipper had him on deck after the meal, but could make nothing ofhim. To all his questions he replied in the strange tongue of the nightbefore, and, though our fellows had been to many ports, and knew a wordor two of several languages, none of them recognized it. The skippergave it up at last, and, left to himself, he stared about him for sometime, regardless of our interest in his movements, and then, leaningheavily against the side of the ship, stayed there so long that wethought he must have fallen asleep.

  "He's half-dead now!" whispered Roberts.

  "Hush!" said Bill, "mebbe he's been in the water a week or two, and can'tquite make it out. See how he's looking at it now."

  He stayed on deck all day in the sun, but, as night came on, returned tothe warmth of the fo'c's'le. The food we gave him remained untouched,and he took little or no notice of us, though I fancied that he saw thefear we had of him. He slept again in the dead man's bunk, and whenmorning came still lay there.

  Until dinner-time, nobody interfered with him, and then Roberts, pushedforward by the others, approached him with some food. He motioned, itaway with a dirty, bloated hand, and, making signs for water, drank iteagerly.

  For two days he stayed there quietly, the black eyes always open, thestubby fingers always on the move. On the third morning Bill, who hadconquered his fear sufficiently to give him water occasionally, calledsoftly to us.

  "Come and look at him," said he. "What's the matter with him?"

  "He's dying!" said the cook, with a shudder.

  "He can't be going to die yet!" said Bill, blankly.

  As he spoke the man's eyes seemed to get softer and more life-like, andhe looked at us piteously and helplessly. From face to face he gazed inmute inquiry, and then, striking his chest feebly with his fist, utteredtwo words.

  We looked at each other blankly, and he repeated them eagerly, and againtouched his chest.

  "It's his name," said the cook, and we all repeated them.

  He smiled in an exhausted fashion, and then, rallying his energies, heldup a forefinger; as we stared at this new riddle, he lowered it, and heldup all four fingers, doubled.

  "Come away," quavered the cook; "he's putting a spell on us."

  We drew back at that, and back farther still, as he repeated the motions.Then Bill's face cleared suddenly, and he stepped towards him.

  "He means his wife and younkers!" he shouted eagerly. "This ain't no JemDadd!"

  It was good then to see how our fellows drew round the dying sailor, andstrove to cheer him. Bill, to show he understood the finger business,nodded cheerily, and held his hand at four different heights from thefloor. The last was very low, so low that the man set his lips together,and strove to turn his heavy head from us.

  "Poor devil!" said Bill, "he wants us to tell his wife and childrenwhat's become of him. He must ha' been dying when he come aboard. Whatwas his name, again?"

  But the name was not easy to English lips, and we had already forgottenit.

  "Ask him again," said the cook, "and write it down. Who's got a pen?"

  He went to look for one as Bill turned to the sailor to get him to repeatit. Then he turned round again, and eyed us blankly, for, by this time,the owner had himself forgotten it.