A little water would do them good. Hallo! Look out!
Look out!" The cook struggled.--"Not you, sir--not you!" He began to
scramble to windward. "Galley!... my business!" he shouted.--"Cook's
going crazy now," said several voices. He yelled:--"Crazy, am I? I am
more ready to die than any of you, officers incloosive--there! As long
as she swims I will cook! I will get you coffee."--"Cook, ye are a
gentleman!" cried Belfast. But the cook was already going over the
weather-ladder. He stopped for a moment to shout back on the poop:--"As
long as she swims I will cook!" and disappeared as though he had gone
overboard. The men who had heard sent after him a cheer that sounded
like a wail of sick children. An hour or more afterwards some one
said distinctly: "He's gone for good."--"Very likely," assented the
boatswain; "even in fine weather he was as smart about the deck as a
milch-cow on her first voyage. We ought to go and see." Nobody moved. As
the hours dragged slowly through the darkness Mr. Baker crawled back and
forth along the poop several times. Some men fancied they had heard him
exchange murmurs with the master, but at that time the memories were
incomparably more vivid than anything actual, and they were not certain
whether the murmurs were heard now or many years ago.
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