"A book," he said, "and an axe, and a gibbet or
gallows. B-a-g--that makes 'bag.' Doesn't go far, does it?
Humorous duck, isn't he? Any one who can write 'ha! ha!' under a
gallows has real humor. G-a-b, b-a-g!"
The Ella still lay in the Delaware, half a mile or so from her
original moorings. She carried the usual riding-lights--a white
one in the bow, another at the stern, and the two vertical red
lights which showed her not under command. In reply to repeated
signals, we were unable to rouse the watchman. I had brought an
electric flash with me, and by its aid we found a rope ladder over
the side, with a small boat at its foot.
Although the boat indicated the presence of the watchman on board,
we made our way to the deck without challenge. Here McWhirter
suggested that the situation might be disagreeable, were the man to
waken and get at us with a gun.
We stood by the top of the ladder, therefore, and made another
effort to rouse him. "Hey, watchman!" I called. And McWhirter, in
a deep bass, sang lustily: "Watchman, what of the night?" Neither
of us made, any perceptible impression on the silence and gloom of
the Ella.
McWhirter grew less gay. The deserted decks of the ship, her tragic
history, her isolation, the darkness, which my small flash seemed
only to intensify, all had their effect on him.
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