finished; only the head remained exposed. The gray hair was still neat, even in death, Goddard noted, and the slender face was pale as marble under the naked light.
“It’s weighted at the foot,” Lind said. “The engineers gave us the cap of an old bearing. Weighs about fifty pounds.”
Captain Steen came in, carrying a rolled flag. “Good morning, Mr. Goddard,” he said, and turned to the mate. “Here’s the Union Jack, Mr. Lind.”
Lind took the flag. “After well-deck, port side; that all right?”
“Yes. And I would appreciate it if everybody who can would change to shore clothes. That doesn’t include the black gang on watch, of course.”
Lind nodded. “I’ll pass the word. Incidentally, there are two British subjects in the crew; the eight-to-twelve fireman and the second cook. It might be a gesture of some kind if we asked them to bear a hand bringing the body out. And maybe Mr. Goddard would like to represent the passengers.”
“I’d be glad to,” Goddard said.
He watched moodily as the bos’n pulled the remaining canvas up over Egerton’s face and matched the corners. The two men went on stitching up the edges of the white anonymous sack.
VI
T HERE WERE POISONOUS-LOOKING SQUALLS ON the horizon on both sides of them, but here the sun bore down with leaden weight and there was a dead stillness to the air like the feeling of vacuum before a tornado. It was oppressive, and Goddard found himself wishing nervously that Captain Steen would advance the service a few minutes so they could complete it before one of the squalls came screaming down on them and wrecked Egerton’s chances of departing from the visible world with a little grace and dignity. But he’d said four P.M. , and apparently four it would be.
A single wooden horse had been set five feet in from the bulwark on the port side of the after well-deck, and all the crew not on watch on the bridge or in the engine room were gathered in a semicircle about it, most of them in shore-going trousers and white shirts that were already limp with perspiration by the time they’d got them on. Lind was wearing tropical whites, the first time Goddard had seen him in uniform. In the background were two or three of the black gang, just come up from below and still in singlets and sweat rags. Goddard was standing by the horse with Lind, the bos’n, and the two English members of the crew, the only ones of the whole assemblage wearing ties.
There was a growl of thunder from one of the squalls. Then Goddard saw Karen Brooke and Madeleine Lennox coming down the ladder from the deck above, followed by Captain Steen in full uniform with jacket, carrying his Bible. The two women were in simple white summer dresses. Four bells struck, followed immediately by the jingle of the engine room telegraph. The engine stopped, and in a moment the ship began to go astern as the second mate backed her down to take the way off her.
Lind nodded to the bos’n. “All right, Boats.”
The dogs had been knocked loose and the steel door opening onto the well-deck pulled back and latched. Goddard followed the bos’n and the two Englishmen into the passageway. The door to the small cubicle was open, and the white burial sack still lay upon the door supported by the two horses, now with the Union Jack draped across it. The vibration of the reversed engine ceased and there was silence as they picked up the door by its four corners and carried it down the passageway into the sullen glare of afternoon. They put it down with one end on the wooden horse and the other extending out over the bulwark about a foot, the weighted end of the sack toward the sea. They stepped back, Goddard positioning himself next to the bulwark. He looked over the side. The Leander was still ghosting through the water, but slowing as she gradually came to rest.
“Let us bow our heads,” Captain Steen said. The sun beat down, and there was another roll of thunder as he intoned the prayer. When
“It’s weighted at the foot,” Lind said. “The engineers gave us the cap of an old bearing. Weighs about fifty pounds.”
Captain Steen came in, carrying a rolled flag. “Good morning, Mr. Goddard,” he said, and turned to the mate. “Here’s the Union Jack, Mr. Lind.”
Lind took the flag. “After well-deck, port side; that all right?”
“Yes. And I would appreciate it if everybody who can would change to shore clothes. That doesn’t include the black gang on watch, of course.”
Lind nodded. “I’ll pass the word. Incidentally, there are two British subjects in the crew; the eight-to-twelve fireman and the second cook. It might be a gesture of some kind if we asked them to bear a hand bringing the body out. And maybe Mr. Goddard would like to represent the passengers.”
“I’d be glad to,” Goddard said.
He watched moodily as the bos’n pulled the remaining canvas up over Egerton’s face and matched the corners. The two men went on stitching up the edges of the white anonymous sack.
VI
T HERE WERE POISONOUS-LOOKING SQUALLS ON the horizon on both sides of them, but here the sun bore down with leaden weight and there was a dead stillness to the air like the feeling of vacuum before a tornado. It was oppressive, and Goddard found himself wishing nervously that Captain Steen would advance the service a few minutes so they could complete it before one of the squalls came screaming down on them and wrecked Egerton’s chances of departing from the visible world with a little grace and dignity. But he’d said four P.M. , and apparently four it would be.
A single wooden horse had been set five feet in from the bulwark on the port side of the after well-deck, and all the crew not on watch on the bridge or in the engine room were gathered in a semicircle about it, most of them in shore-going trousers and white shirts that were already limp with perspiration by the time they’d got them on. Lind was wearing tropical whites, the first time Goddard had seen him in uniform. In the background were two or three of the black gang, just come up from below and still in singlets and sweat rags. Goddard was standing by the horse with Lind, the bos’n, and the two English members of the crew, the only ones of the whole assemblage wearing ties.
There was a growl of thunder from one of the squalls. Then Goddard saw Karen Brooke and Madeleine Lennox coming down the ladder from the deck above, followed by Captain Steen in full uniform with jacket, carrying his Bible. The two women were in simple white summer dresses. Four bells struck, followed immediately by the jingle of the engine room telegraph. The engine stopped, and in a moment the ship began to go astern as the second mate backed her down to take the way off her.
Lind nodded to the bos’n. “All right, Boats.”
The dogs had been knocked loose and the steel door opening onto the well-deck pulled back and latched. Goddard followed the bos’n and the two Englishmen into the passageway. The door to the small cubicle was open, and the white burial sack still lay upon the door supported by the two horses, now with the Union Jack draped across it. The vibration of the reversed engine ceased and there was silence as they picked up the door by its four corners and carried it down the passageway into the sullen glare of afternoon. They put it down with one end on the wooden horse and the other extending out over the bulwark about a foot, the weighted end of the sack toward the sea. They stepped back, Goddard positioning himself next to the bulwark. He looked over the side. The Leander was still ghosting through the water, but slowing as she gradually came to rest.
“Let us bow our heads,” Captain Steen said. The sun beat down, and there was another roll of thunder as he intoned the prayer. When
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