The
Chinaman was their last task; he seemed to be light-
headed, talked aloud in his unknown language as they
brought him up, and it was only with the splash of his
sinking body that the gibberish ceased. Brown, by
common consent, was left alone. Flesh and blood could
go no further.
All this time they had been drinking undiluted gin like
water; three bottles stood broached in different
quarters; and none passed without a gulp. Tommy
collapsed against the mainmast; Wicks fell on his face
on the poop ladder and moved no more; Amalu had
vanished unobserved. Carthew was the last afoot: he
stood swaying at the break of the poop, and the
lantern, which he still carried, swung with his
movement. His head hummed; it swarmed with broken
thoughts; memory of that day's abominations flared up
and died down within him like the light of a lamp in a
strong draught. And then he had a drunkard's
inspiration.
"There must be no more of this," he thought, and
stumbled once more below.
The absence of Holdorsen's body brought him to a stand.
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