CHAPTER IV.
TELLS HOW A SONG WAS SUNG AND A KNIFE DRAWN UPON DEAD MAN'S ROCK.
There was no escape.

I have said that the ascent of Dead Man's Rock was possible, but that was upon the northern side, from which we were now utterly cut off.

Hemmed in as we were between the sheer cliff and the precipice, we could only sit still and await the man's coming.

Utter fear had apparently robbed my companion of all his faculties, for he sat, a stony image of despair, looking with staring, vacant eyes at the spot where his enemy would appear; while as for me, dreading I knew not what, I clung to the rock and listened breathlessly to the sound of the footsteps as they came nearer and nearer.

Presently, within about fifteen feet, as I guess, of our hiding-place, they suddenly ceased, and a full, rich voice broke out in song-- "Sing hey! for the dead man's eyes, my lads; Sing ho! for the dead man's hand; For his glittering eyes are the salt sea's prize, And his fingers clutch the sand, my lads-- Sing ho! how they grip the land! "Sing hey! for the dead man's lips, my lads; Sing ho! for the dead man's soul.
At his red, red lips the merrymaid sips For the kiss that his sweetheart stole, my lads-- Sing ho! for the bell shall toll!" The words were full and clear upon the morning air--so clear that their weird horror, together with the strangeness of the tune (which had a curious catch in the last line but one) and, above all, the sweetness of the voice, held me spellbound.