distance—­is there?’ I had never heard him talk so much at a stretch, and to no purpose as it seemed to me.  I said nothing.  He went down the ladder, and the dog, that was always at his heels whenever he moved, night or day, followed, sliding nose first, after him.  I heard his boot-heels tap, tap on the after-deck, then he stopped and spoke to the dog—­’Go back, Rover.  On the bridge, boy!  Go on—­get.’  Then he calls out to me from the dark, ‘Shut that dog up in the chart-room, Mr. Jones—­will you?’

’"This was the last time I heard his voice, Captain Marlow.  These are the last words he spoke in the hearing of any living human being, sir.”  At this point the old chap’s voice got quite unsteady.  “He was afraid the poor brute would jump after him, don’t you see?” he pursued with a quaver.  “Yes, Captain Marlow.  He set the log for me; he—­would you believe it?—­he put a drop of oil in it too.  There was the oil-feeder where he left it near by.  The boat-swain’s mate got the hose along aft to wash down at half-past five; by-and-by he knocks off and runs up on the bridge—­’Will you please come aft, Mr. Jones,’ he says.  ’There’s a funny thing.  I don’t like to touch it.’  It was Captain Brierly’s gold chronometer watch carefully hung under the rail by its chain.

’"As soon as my eyes fell on it something struck me, and I knew, sir.  My legs got soft under me.  It was as if I had seen him go over; and I could tell how far behind he was left too.  The taffrail-log marked eighteen miles and three-quarters, and four iron belaying-pins were missing round the mainmast.  Put them in his pockets to help him down, I suppose; but, Lord! what’s four iron pins to a powerful man like Captain Brierly.  Maybe his confidence in himself was just shook a bit at the last.  That’s the only sign of fluster he gave in his whole life, I should think; but I am ready to answer for him, that once over he did not try to swim a stroke, the same as he would have had pluck enough to keep up all day long on the bare chance had he fallen overboard accidentally.  Yes, sir.  He was second to none—­if he said so himself, as I heard him once.  He had written two letters in the middle watch, one to the Company and the other to me.  He gave me a lot of instructions as to the passage—­I had been in the trade before he was out of his time—­and no end of hints as to my conduct with our people in Shanghai, so that I should keep the command of the Ossa.  He wrote like a father would to a favourite son, Captain Marlow, and I was five-and-twenty years his senior and had tasted salt water before he was fairly breeched.  In his letter to the owners—­it was left open for me to see—­he said that he had always done his duty by them—­up to that moment—­and even now he was not betraying their confidence, since he was leaving the ship to as competent a seaman as could be found—­meaning me, sir, meaning me!  He told them that if the last act of his life didn’t take away all his