Page:Doctor Syn - A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh.djvu/307

 usually benign old face was entirely abominable to look upon.

"It's Doctor Syn! It's Clegg!" ejaculated the three seamen who had entered the cabin. "Then, in God's name, what did we shoot out there?"

"The mulatto," said the captain. "He has been here before us."

"Then we shot the mulatto, sir!" exclaimed one of the men.

"You shot the sexton," cut in the captain, "but for the mulatto—well, it's my honest opinion that—but there, that sort of thing is beyond a sailor. Here you!" he addressed one of the sailors, "just get a piece of sailcloth from the deck and we'll stitch this body up, and you two help me get this damned harpoon from his neck. There's a ballast shot in our boat that'll do for his feet, for I'm not going to take this body ashore. It might cause a fresh outcry among the people. Besides, now that old Clegg's log is entered, I've no desire to hang his body in chains. It's a barbarous custom. If ever a man deserved to be buried at sea, Clegg did, for rascal though he was, he was a wonderful seaman, so a seaman's grave he shall have, or I'm no sailor."

Suddenly a cry arose from the man who had gone from the cabin in search of the sailcloth.

"What is it?" called the captain.

"My God!" cried the sailor, dashing back into the cabin, "the sexton! the sexton!"