"Go on .-- I'll never see _him_ again .-- The heat, and all--By the head, he was--Go on.

That's all.

Finish." He sat looking straight before him, with dull eyes that never moved; nor did he stir at the dry rustle and scrape of the matting sail, slowly hoisted above him.

The quaggy banks, now darkening, slid more rapidly astern; while the steersman and his mates in the high bow invoked the wind with alternate chant, plaintive, mysterious, and half musical:-- "Ay-ly-chy-ly Ah-ha-aah!" To the listeners, huddled in silence, the familiar cry became a long, monotonous accompaniment to sad thoughts.

Through the rhythm, presently, broke a sound of small-arms,--a few shots, quick but softened by distance, from far inland.