Four men were brought ashore alive, the captain last.  The rest of the crew of six lay on the sands with Mr. Raymond kneeling beside them.  He had covered their faces, and now gave the order to lift them into the carriage.  Taffy noticed that he was obeyed without demur or question.  And there flashed on his memory a grey morning, not unlike this one, when he had missed his father at breakfast:  “He had been called away suddenly,” Humility explained, “and there would be no lessons that day,” and she kept the boy indoors all the morning and busy with a netting-stitch he had been bothering her to teach him.

“Father,” he asked as they followed the cart, “does this often happen?”

“Your mother hasn’t thought it well for you to see these sights.”

“Then it has happened, often?”

“I have buried seventeen,” said Mr. Raymond.

That afternoon he showed Taffy their graves.  “I know the names of all but two.  The bodies have marks about them—­tattooed, you know—­ and that helps.  And I write to their relatives or friends and restore whatever small property may be found on them.  I have often wished to put up some gravestone, or a wooden cross at least, with their names.”

He went to his chest in the vestry and took out a book—­a cheap account book, ruled for figures.  Taffy turned over the pages.

Nov. 3rd, 187-.  Brig “James and Maria”:  J. D., fair-haired, height 5 ft. 8 in., marked on chest with initials and cross swords, tattooed, also anchor and coil of rope on right fore-arm:  large brown mole on right shoulder-blade.  Striped flannel drawers:  otherwise naked:  no property of any kind.

Ditto.  Grown man, age 40 or thereabouts:  dark; iron grey beard:  lovers’ knot tattooed on right forearm, with initials R. L., E. W., in the loops:  clad in flannel shirt, guernsey, trousers (blue sea-cloth), socks (heather-mixture), all unmarked.  Silver chain in pocket, with Freemason’s token:  a half-crown, a florin, and fourpence—­

And so on.  On the opposite page were entered the full names and details afterwards discovered, with notes of the Vicar’s correspondence, and position of the grave.

“They ought to have gravestones,” said Mr. Raymond.  “But as it is, I can only get about thirty shillings for the funeral from the county rate.  The balance has come out of my pocket—­from two to three pounds for each.  From the beginning the Squire refused to help to bury sailors.  He took the ground that it wasn’t a local claim.”

“Hullo!” said Taffy, for as he turned the leaves his eye fell on this entry:—­

Jan 30th, 187-.  S.S.  “Rifleman” (all hands).  Cargo, China clay:  W. P., age about eighteen, fair skin, reddish hair, short and curled, height 5ft. 10 and 3/4 in.  Initials tattooed on chest under a three-masted ship and semicircle of seven stars; clad in flannel singlet and trousers (cloth):  singlet marked with same initials in red cotton:  pockets empty—­

“But he was in the Navy!” cried Taffy, with his finger on the entry.