don't you answer? Always got to call your name twice." The Finn emitted
at last an uncouth grunt, and, stepping out, passed through the patch of
light, weird and gaudy, with the face of a man marching through a dream.
The mate went on faster:--"Craik--Singleton--Donkin.... O Lord!" he
involuntarily ejaculated as the incredibly dilapidated figure appeared
in the light. It stopped; it uncovered pale gums and long, upper teeth
in a malevolent grin.--"Is there any-think wrong with me, Mister Mate?"
it asked, with a flavour of insolence in the forced simplicity of its
tone. On both sides of the deck subdued titters were heard.--"That'll
do. Go over," growled Mr. Baker, fixing the new hand with steady blue
eyes. And Donkin vanished suddenly out of the light into the dark
group of mustered men, to be slapped on the back and to hear flattering
whispers:--"He ain't afeard, he'll give sport to 'em, see if he
don't.... Reg'lar Punch and Judy show.... Did ye see the mate start
at him?... Well! Damme, if I ever!..." The last man had gone over,
and there was a moment of silence while the mate peered at his
list.--"Sixteen, seventeen," he muttered. "I am one hand short, bo'sen,"
he said aloud. The big west-countryman at his elbow, swarthy and bearded
like a gigantic Spaniard, said in a rumbling bass:--"There's no one left
forward, sir. I had a look round. He ain't aboard, but he may, turn
up before daylight."--"Ay. He may or he may not," commented the mate,
"can't make out that last name. It's all a smudge.... That will do, men.
Go below."

The distinct and motionless group stirred, broke up, began to move
forward.

"Wait!" cried a deep, ringing voice.

All stood still. Mr. Baker, who had turned away yawning, spun round