After this,
another quarter of an hour passed, during which the fall of a pin
might almost have been heard, so profound was the silence. I shut my
eyes in this terrific interval, and endeavoured to pray.
"On deck, here--forward, there!" said a voice suddenly, that, at once,
I knew to be the captain's. I would have given the world to be able to
answer, in order to warn him of the danger, but this was impossible. I
did groan, and I believe the captain heard me; for he moved away from
the cabin-door, and called out "Mr. Wallingford--where have you got
to, Mr. Wallingford?" He was without his hat, having come on deck
half-clad, simply to ascertain how went the night, and it makes me
shudder, even now, to write about the blow that fell on his
unprotected skull. It would have felled an ox, and it crushed him on
the spot. The caution of his murderers prevented his falling, however,
for they did not wish to alarm the sleepers below; though the plash on
the water that followed, could not fail to reach ears which took in
every sound with the avidity of mine. Thus perished Captain Williams,
a mild, well-meaning man, an excellent seaman, and one whose principal
fault was want of caution. I do not think the water was necessary to
complete his fate, as nothing human could have survived such a blow.
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