Wamibo
held on to it and we held on to Wamibo, clutching our Jimmy. He had
completely collapsed now. He did not seem to have the strength to close
his hand. We stuck to him blindly in our fear. We were not afraid of
Wamibo letting go (we remembered that the brute was stronger than any
three men in the ship), but we were afraid of the hook giving way, and
we also believed that the ship had made up her mind to turn over
at last. But she didn't. A sea swept over us. The boatswain
spluttered:--"Up and away. There's a lull. Away aft with you, or we will
all go to the devil here." We stood up surrounding Jimmy. We begged him
to hold up, to hold on, at least. He glared with his bulging eyes, mute
as a fish, and with all the stiffening knocked out of him. He wouldn't
stand; he wouldn't even as much as clutch at our necks; he was only a
cold black skin loosely stuffed with soft cotton wool; his arms and legs
swung jointless and pliable; his head rolled about; the lower lip hung
down, enormous and heavy. We pressed round him, bothered and dismayed;
sheltering him we swung here and there in a body; and on the very
brink of eternity we tottered all together with concealing and absurd
gestures, like a lot of drunken men embarrassed with a stolen corpse.
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