full of fears.  One day Falk came upon a man gnawing a splinter of pine wood.  Suddenly he threw the piece of wood away, tottered to the rail, and fell over.  Falk, too late to prevent the act, saw him claw the ship’s side desperately before he went down.  Next day another man did the same thing, after uttering horrible imprecations.  But this one somehow managed to get hold of the broken rudder chains and hung on there, silently.  Falk set about trying to save him, and all the time the man, holding with both hands, looked at him anxiously with his sunken eyes.  Then, just as Falk was ready to put his hand on him, the man let go his hold and sank like a stone.  Falk reflected on these sights.  His heart revolted against the horror of death, and he said to himself that he would struggle for every precious minute of his life.

One afternoon—­as the survivors lay about on the after deck—­the carpenter, a tall man with a black beard, spoke of the last sacrifice.  There was nothing eatable left on board.  Nobody said a word to this; but that company separated quickly, these listless feeble spectres slunk off one by one to hide in fear of each other.  Falk and the carpenter remained on deck together.  Falk liked the big carpenter.  He had been the best man of the lot, helpful and ready as long as there was anything to do, the longest hopeful, and had preserved to the last some vigour and decision of mind.

They did not speak to each other.  Henceforth no voices were to be heard conversing sadly on board that ship.  After a time the carpenter tottered away forward; but later on, Falk going to drink at the fresh-water pump, had the inspiration to turn his head.  The carpenter had stolen upon him from behind, and, summoning all his strength, was aiming with a crowbar a blow at the back of his skull.

Dodging just in time, Falk made his escape and ran into his cabin.  While he was loading his revolver there, he heard the sound of heavy blows struck upon the bridge.  The locks of the chartroom doors were slight, they flew open, and the carpenter, possessing himself of the captain’s revolver, fired a shot of defiance.

Falk was about to go on deck and have it out at once, when he remarked that one of the ports of his cabin commanded the approaches to the freshwater pump.  Instead of going out he remained in and secured the door.  “The best man shall survive,” he said to himself—­and the other, he reasoned, must at some time or other come there to drink.  These starving men would drink often to cheat the pangs of their hunger.  But the carpenter too must have noticed the position of the port.  They were the two best men in the ship, and the game was with them.  All the rest of the day Falk saw no one and heard no sound.  At night he strained his eyes.  It was dark—­he heard a rustling noise once, but he was certain that no one could have come near the pump.  It was to the left of his deck port, and he could not have failed to see a man, for the night was clear and starry.  He saw nothing; towards morning another faint noise made him suspicious.  Deliberately and quietly he unlocked his door.  He had not slept, and had not given way to the horror of the situation.  He wanted to live.