At this moment a horrible scene took place.

The old man, tottering on the arms of two seamen, was being led into the cuddy, followed by the girl, who walked unaided.  The madman, in the grasp of the big sailor named Johnson, stood near the gangway; and as I scrambled on deck, one of the men was holding a pannikin full of water to his face.  The poor wretch was shrinking away from it, with his eyes half out of their sockets; but suddenly tearing his arm with a violent effort from the rope that bound him, he seized the pannikin and bit clean through the tin; after which, throwing back his head, he swallowed the whole draught dashed the pannikin down, his face turned black and he fell dead on the deck.

The big sailor sprung aside with an oath, forced from him by his terror; and from every looker-on there broke a groan.  They all shrunk away and stood staring with blanched faces.  Such a piteous sight as it was, lying doubled up, with the rope pinioning the miserable limbs, the teeth locked, and the right arm uptossed!

“Aft here and get the quarter-boat hoisted up!” shouted Duckling, advancing on the poop; and seeing the man dead on the deck, he added, “Get a tarpaulin and cover him up, and let him lie on the fore-hatch.”

“Shall I tell the steward to serve out grog to the men who went with me?” I asked him.

He stared at me contemptuously, and walked away without answering.

THE SAILOR’S WIFE

From “An Iceland Fisherman,” BY PIERRE LOTI

The Icelanders were all returning now.  Two ships came in the second day, four the next, and twelve during the following week.  And all through the country joy returned with them; and there was happiness for the wives and mothers, and junkets in the taverns where the beautiful barmaids of Paimpol served out drink to the fishers.

The Leopoldine was among the belated; there were yet another ten expected.  They would not be long now; and allowing a week’s delay so as not to be disappointed, Gaud waited in happy, passionate joy for Yann, keeping their home bright and tidy for his return.  When everything was in good order there was nothing left for her to do; and besides, in her impatience, she could think of nothing else but her husband.

Three more ships appeared; then another five.  There were only two lacking now.

“Come, come,” they said to her cheerily, “this year the Leopoldine and the Marie-Jeanne will be the last, to pick up all the brooms fallen overboard from the other craft.”

Gaud laughed also.  She was more animated and beautiful than ever, in her great joy of expectancy.

But the days succeeded one another without result.

She still dressed up every day, and with a joyful look went down to the harbor to gossip with the other wives.  She said that this delay was but natural:  was it not the same event every year?  These were such safe boats, and had such capital sailors.