These, with the chief officer, and
perhaps four survivers of the explosion, made up the list of living but
non-effective members of the ship's company. There was one other,
Gulielmo Frascuelo, who was bawling for dear life in his bunk in the
forecastle, but in that dark hour no one chanced to remember him, and it
needed more than a human voice to pit itself against the hurricane which
roared over the vessel. The unhappy wretch knew that something out of
the ordinary had taken place, and he was scared half out of his wits by
the continued absence of the crew. Luckily for himself, he did not
appreciate the real predicament of the ship, or he would have raved
himself into madness.
Walker, in his brief catalogue of occupations, had suppressed one. To
make sure, Christobal closed a water-tight bulkhead door which cut off
the principal staterooms from the saloon. Then he and his two helpers
carried out a painful but necessary task. It was his duty to certify
whether or not life was extinct. There were very few exceptions. The
three men lifted the bodies and threw them overboard. When they reached
the corpses of the second officer and a Spanish engineer who had been
knifed in the defense of the jolly-boat--his comrade had scrambled into
one of the life-boats--Tollemache took possession of such money,
documents, and valuables as were in their pockets, intending to draw up
an inventory when an opportunity presented itself.
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