It had been lined with canvas and tarpaulin, and
a cover of similar material lay ready to be nailed in place. All
the men were bareheaded. Many were in tears. Miss Lee came forward
with us, and it was from her prayer-book that I, too moved for
self-consciousness, read the burial-service.
"I am the resurrection and the life," I read huskily.
The figures at my feet, in their canvas shrouds, rolled gently with
the rocking of the ship; the sun beat down on the decks, on the bare
heads of the men, on the gilt edges of the prayer-book, gleaming in
the light, on the last of the land-birds, drooping in the heat on
the main cross-trees.
". . . For man walketh in a vain shadow," I read, "and disquieteth
himself in vain . . . .
"O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength: before I go
hence, and be no more seen."
CHAPTER XI
THE DEAD LINE
Mrs. Johns and the stewardess came up late in the afternoon. We had
railed off a part of the deck around the forward companionway for
them, and none of the crew except the man on guard was allowed inside
the ropes. After a consultation, finding the ship very short-handed,
and unwilling with the night coming on to trust any of the men, Burns
and I decided to take over this duty ourselves, and, by stationing
ourselves at the top of the companionway, to combine the duties of
officer on watch and guard of the after house.
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