Out in that shining track, a dark stick rose from the water.  That was the last I saw of the Sovereign.

“Where were they?” I asked Trunnell, as we came into the cabin.

“Well,” said the little mate, coolly, “since you’ve worked yourself up so much over the matter, and as we’re a-goin’ along on our course agin, as I suggested to the skipper afore we raised the wrack”—­here he went to the pantry and brought out a bottle, and held it out to me.

“No,” I said; “I don’t want anything to drink.  Tell me what became of the fellows on the wreck.  It’s my second watch, if I remember right, and I’ll be ready to turn out at eight bells.”

“Well,” said Trunnell, “where they is an’ where they is not, stumps me.  Where a feller goes when he dies is mostly a matter o’ guesswork, so I don’t know as I can say eggzackly jest where them fellers is at.”

Here he took a long drink, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.  I put my gun in my room, and sat down at the cabin table, where he held the bottle as though undecided whether to take another drink or put it away in the pantry.  Rum appeared to be easy of access on the ship, and I knew I could get it any time I wanted it.

“Well, ye see, the way of it ware like this,” went on the mate.  “I didn’t take no stock o’ those fellers bein’ aboard a ship what had been afire, so when ye went into stays an’ swore to do bloody murder an’ suddin death to them fellers, I didn’t let on to the old man.  What’s the use? says I. We ain’t a-goin’ to bring them back noways.”

“Weren’t they aboard?” I asked.

Trunnell gave me a long, keen look.

“Be ye tellin’ o’ this yarn, Rolling, or me?” he said.

I asked his pardon for interrupting.

“As I ware a-sayin’ afore ye put in your oar, when I hears that ye both had told the truth o’ the matter o’ the fight, it appeared to me that them fellers couldn’t be aboard that wrack.  I told the old man so, but he ware fer standin’ along after them anyways.  Then I ware clean decided that the wrack had done fer them.”

“Wasn’t there a sign of them aboard?” I asked again.

“There’s such a thing as bein’ inquisitive,” said Trunnell, looking at me with his keen little eyes from under their shaggy brows.  “Them men ain’t on that wrack—­an’ I told the skipper so, see?”

He pulled out his sheath-knife, went to the door of the cabin, and flung it clear of the ship’s side.  Then he came back.

“There’s some such thing as justice on ships, when the fellers go too far; but discipline is discipline.  The sooner ye get that through yer head, the better.  As fer them men with Andrews, they had give up any right to live afore I got there.  I told the old man that the chances were agin their bein’ found there.  I comes back and reports that they ain’t there.  That’s all.  Where they is I don’t much keer.  They is plenty o’ sharrucks in this here ocean, and some parts o’ them is most likely helpin’ them.  The rest is mostly in hell, I reckon, but as I says afore, that is a matter o’ mostly guesswork.”