The Francis Spate by Jack London.

The Francis Spate was running before it solely under a mizzen topsail when the thing happened.

It was not due to carelessness so much as to the lack of discipline of the crew, and to the fact that they were indifferent seamen at best.

The man at the wheel, in particular, a Limerick man, had had no experience with salt water beyond that of rafting timber on the Shannon between the Quebec vessels and the shore.

He was afraid of the huge seas that rose out of the murk Astern and bore down upon him, and he was more given to cowering away from their threatened impact than he was to meeting their blows with the wheel and checking the ship's rush to broach two.

It was three in the morning when his unseamanlike conduct precipitated the catastrophe.

At sight of a sea far larger than its fellows, he crouched down, releasing his hands from the spoke.

The Francis Bate sheared as her stern lifted on the sea, receiving the full fling of the cap on her quarter.

The next instant she was in the trough, her lee rail buried till the ocean was level with her hatch, combings sea after sea, breaking over her weather rail, and sweeping what remained exposed of the deck with icy deluges.

The men were out of hand, helpless and hopeless, stupid in their bewilderment and fear, and resolute only in that they would not obey orders.

Some wailed, others clung silently in the weather shrouds, and still others muttered prayers or shrieked vile imprecations, And neither captain nor mate could get them to bear a hand at the pumps or at setting patches of sails to bring the vessel up to the wind and sea.

Inside the hour, the ship was over on her beam ends, the lubberly cowards climbing up her side and hanging on in the rigging.

When she went over, the mate was caught and drowned in the after cabin, as were two sailors who had sought refuge in the forecastle.

The mate had been the ablest man on board, and the captain was now scarcely less hopeless than his men.

Beyond cursing them for their worthlessness, he did nothing, and it remained for a man named Mahoney, a belfast Man, and a boy O'Brien of Limerick, to cut away the fore and main masts.

This they did at great risk, on the perpendicular wall of the wreck, sending the mizzen top mast overside along.

In the general crash.

The Francis bate righted, and it was well that she was lumber laden, else she would have sunk, for she was already water logged.

The main mast, still fast by the shrouds, beat like a thunderous sledge hammer against the ship's side, every stroke, bringing gruns from the men.

Day dawned on the savage ocean, and in the cold gray light, all that could be seen of the France's spate, emerging from the sea where the poop, the shattered mizzen mast, and a ragged line of bulwarks.

It was midwinter and the North Atlantic, and the wretched men were half dead from cold, but there was no place where they could find rest.

Every sea breached clean over the wreck, washing away the salt and crustations from their bodies and depositing fresh incrustaceans.

The cabin under the poop was awash to the knees, but here at least was shelter from the chill wind, and here the survivors congregated, standing upright, holding on by the cabin furnishings, and leaning against one another for support.

In vain, Mahoney strove to get the men to take turns in watching aloft from the Mizzen mast for any chance vessel.

The icy gale was too much for them, and they preferred the shelter of the cabin.

O'Brien, the boy, who was only fifteen, took turns with Mahoney on the freezing perch.

It was the boy at three in the afternoon who called down that he had sighted a sail.

This did bring them from the cabin, and they crowded the poop rail and weather Mizzen shrouds as they watched the strange ship.

But his course did not lie near, and when it disappeared below the sky line, they returned shivering to the cabin, not one offering to relieve the watch at the mast head.

By the end of the second day, Mahoney and O'Brien gave up their attempt, and thereafter the vessel drifted in the gale, uncared for and without a look out the They were thirteen alive, and for seventy two hours they stood knee deep in the sloshing water on the cabin floor, half frozen, without food, and with but three bottles of wine shared among them.

All food and fresh water were below, and there was no getting at such supplies in the water logged condition of the wreck.

As the days went by, no food whatever passed their lips.

Fresh water, in small quantities they were able to obtain by holding a cover of a tureen under the saddle of the mizzen mast, but the rain fell infrequently and they were hard put when it rained.

They also soaked their handkerchiefs, squeezing them out into their mouths or into their shoes.

As the wind and sea went down, they were even able to mop the exposed portions of the deck that were free from brine and so add to their water supply.

But food they had none and no way of getting it, though sea birds flew repeatedly overhead in the calm weather that followed the gale.

After having remained on their feet for ninety six hours, they were able to find dry planks in the cabin on which to lie, but the long hours of standing in the salt water had caused sores to form on their legs.

These sores were extremely painful.

The slightest contact or scrape cause severe anguish, and in their weak condition and crowded situation, they were continually hurting one another.

In this manner, not a man could move without being followed by volleys of abuse, curses, and groans.

So great was their misery that the strong oppressed the weak, shoving them aside from the dry planks to shift for themselves in the cold and wet.

The boy O'Brien was specially maltreated.

Though there were three other boys, it was O'Brien who came in for most of the abuse.

There was no explaining it, except on the ground that he was a stronger and more dominant spirit than those of the other boys, and that he stood up more for his rights, resenting the petty injustices that were made it out to all the boys by the men.

Whenever O'Brien came near the men in search of a dry place to sleep, or merely moved about, he was kicked and cuffed away.

In return, he cursed them for their selfish brutishness and blows and kicks and curses were reigned upon him, miserable, as were all of them.

He was thus made far more miserable, and it was only the flame of life, unusually strong in him, that enabled him to endure.

As the days went by and they grew weaker, their peevishness and ill temper increased, which in turn increased the ill treatment and sufferings of O'Brien.

By the sixteenth day, all hands were far gone with hunger, and they stood together in small groups, talking in undertones, and occasionally glancing at O'Brien.

It was at high noon that the conference came to a head.

The Captain was the spokesman.

All were collected on the poop men.

The captain began, we have been a long time without food.

Two weeks and two days it is, though it seems more like two years and two months.

We can't hang out much longer.

It is beyond human nature to go on hanging out with nothing in our stomachs.

There is a serious question to consider whether it is better for all to die or for one to die.

We are standing with our feet in our graves.

If one of us dies, the rest may live until a ship is sighted.

What say you, Michael Beheng, the man who had been at the wheel when the Frances spade broached.

Two called out that it was well.

The others joined in the cry.

Let it be one of the byes, cried Suliman, a Tarbart man, glancing at the same time significantly at O'Brien.

It is my opinion, the captain went on, that it will be a good deed for one of us to die for the rest A good deed.

A good deed, the men interjected, And it is my opinion that tis best for one of the boys to die.

They have no families to support, nor would they be considered so great a loss to their friends as those who have wives and children.

Tis right, very right, very fit it should be done, The men muttered one to another, But the four boys cried out against the injustice of it.

Our lives is just as dear to us as the rest, if Yez O'Brien protested, and our families too.

As for wives and children, who's there save in meself to care for me old mother?

That's a widow, as ye know well, Michael be hanged.

That comes from Alemerick.

Tis not fair.

Let the lots be drawn between all of us men and boys.

Mahoney was the only man who spoke in favor of the boys, declaring that it was the fair thing for all to share alike.

Sullivan and the Captain insisted on the drawing of lots being confined to the boys.

There were high words in the midst of which Sullivan turned upon O'Brien, snarling, twould be a good deed to put you out of the way you deserve it.

Twould be the right way to serve you, And serve you we will.

He started toward O'Brien with intent to lay hands on him and proceed at once with the killing.

While several others likewise shuffled toward him and reached for him.

He stumbled backwards to escape them, at the same time crying that he would submit to the drawing of the lots among the boys.

The Captain prepared four sticks of different links and handed them to Sullivan.

Your thinkin the drawing.

I'll not be fair, the latter sneered to O'Brien, So it yourself will do the drawn.

To this, O'Brien agreed.

A handkerchief was tied over his eyes, blindfolding him, and he knelt down on the deck with his back to Sullivan.

Whoever you name for the shortest stick'll die, the captain said.

Sullivan held up one of the sticks.

The rest were concealed in his hand so that no one could see whether it was the short stick or not.

And oh's stick will it be?

Sullivan demanded?

For little Johnny Schehen, O'Brien answered Sulivan laid the stick aside.

Those who looked could not tell if it were the fatal one.

Sullivan held up another stick.

Whose will it be?

For?

George Burns?

Was the reply.

The stick was laid with the first one, and a third held up.

And whose is this one?

Fore?

Myself?

Said O'Brien.

With a quick movement, Sullivan threw the four sticks together.

No one had seen tis for yourself.

Ye've drawn it, Sullivan announced, a good deed.

Several of the men muttered.

O'Brien was very quiet.

He arose to his feet, took the bandage off and looked around.

Where is it?

He demanded the short stick?

The one for me?

The captain pointed to the four sticks lying on the deck.

How do you know the stick was mine?

O'Brien questioned, Did you see it?

Johnny Chen Johnny Sheen, who was the youngest of the boys, did not answer.

Did you see it?

O'Brien next asked mahoney, No, I didn't see it.

The men were muttering and growling.

Twas a fair drawing, Sullivan said, ye had yer chance and ye lust That's all it ut a fair drawing.

The captain added, didn't I behold it myself?

The stick was yours O'Brien, and ye may as well get ready?

Where's the cook?

Gorman?

Come here, fetch the tureen, cover some May thee gorman do your duty like a man, but I'll I do it, the cook demanded.

He was a weak eyed, weak chinned, indecisive man.

Tis a damn murder.

O'Brien cried out.

I'll have none of it, Mahoney announced, Not a bite shall pass me lips.

Then tis your share for better men than yourself, Sullivan sneered, go on with your duty, cook, tis not me duty.

The killing a boy's Gorman protested irresolutely.

If yus don't make mate for us, we'll be makin mate of yourself.

Behind threatened, somebody must die, and as well you as an another.

Johnny Cheen began to cry.

O'Brien listened anxiously.

His face was pale, his lips trembled, and at times his whole body shook.

I signed on as cook, Gorman announced, and Cook I would if Golly there was, But I'll not lay me hands to murder.

Tis not in the articles.

I'm the cook, and cook you'll be for one minute more, only, Sullivan said grimly, at the same moment, gripping the cook's head from behind and bending it back to the windpipe and jugular were stretched taut.

Where's your knife might pass it along?

At the touch of the steel, Gorman whimpered, I'll do it if ye's hold the boy.

The pitiable condition of the cook seemed in some fashion to nerve up O'Brien.

It's all right, Gorman, he said, go on, what did tis?

Meself knows you're not wanting to do it.

It's all right, sir.

This did the captain, who had laid a hand heavily on his arm.

You won't have to hold me, sir, I'll stand still.

Stop your glithering and go get that tarreen cover Behin, commanded Johnny Sham at the same time, dealing him a heavy cuff.

Alongside the head.

The boy, who was scarcely more than a child.

Fetched the cover.

He crawled and tottered along the deck.

So weak was he from hunger, the tears still ran down his cheeks.

Behin took the cover from him, at the same time administering another cuff.

O'Brien took off his coat and bared his right arm.

His under lips still trembled, but he held a tight grip on himself.

The captain's penknife was opened and passed to Gorman.

Mahoney, tell me mother what happened to me.

If ever ye get back, O'Brien requested.

Mahoney nodded.

Tis black, murder, black and damned.

He said, the bye's flesh.

The none of ye's any good, mark me words.

Ye'll not profit by it.

None of yet's get ready.

The captain ordered you, Sullivan, hold the cover.

That's it, close up, spill nothing.

It's precious stuff.

Gorman made an effort, the knife was dull.

He was weak.

Besides, his hand was shaking so violently that he nearly dropped the knife.

The three boys were crouched apart in a huddle, crying and sobbing with the deception of Mahoney.

The men were gathered about the victim, craning their necks to see be a man.

Gorman, the captain cautioned.

The wretched cook was seized with a spasm of resolution.

Sawing back and forth with the blade on O'Brien's wrist, the veins were severed.

Sloman held the terraen cover close underneath.

The cut veins gaped wide, but no ruddy flood gushed forth.

There was no blood at all.

The veins were dry and empty.

No one spoke.

The grim and silent figures swayed in unison with each heave of the ship.

Every eye was turned fixedly upon that inconceivable and monstrous thing.

The dry veins of a creature that was alive.

Tis a warning, Mahoney, cried, Lave the boy along, mark me words his deathl do none of you is any good?

Try at the elbow, Dee, left elbow tis nearer the heart, the captain said, finally, in a dim and husky voice that was unlike his own.

Give me the knife, O'Brien said, roughly, taking it out of the cook's hand.

I can't be lookin at ye.

Puttin me to hurt.

Quite coolly.

He cut the vein of the left elbow, but like the cook, he failed to bring blood.

This is all I've no use, Sullivan said, tis better to put him out of his misery by bleeding him at the throat.

The strain had been too much for the lad Don't be doin' it, he cried, There'll be no blood in me throat.

Give me a little more time.

Tis cold and weak, I am be lettin me.

Lay down and sleep a bit.

Then I'll be warm and the blood'll flow.

Tis no use, Sullivan objected, as if ye could be sleeping a time like this, ye'll not sleep and ye'll not warm up.

Look at ye, now you've an argue.

I was sick at Limerick one night.

O'Brien hurried on and the doctor couldn't bleed me.

But after sleeping a few hours and getting warm in bed, the blood came freely.

It's God's truth, I'm telling you is.

Don't be murdering me.

His veins are open now, the captain said, tis no use leaving him in his pain.

Do it now and be done with it.

They started to reach for O'Brien, but he backed away.

I'll be the death of ye's he screamed.

Take your hands off in me, Sullivan I'll come back.

I'll haunt ye's waking or sleeping.

I'll haunt ye steady and die.

Tis disgraceful, yelled Bihin.

If the short stick had been mine, i'd'll let me mates cut the head off of me and died happy.

So and leaped in and caught the unhappy lad by the hair.

The rest of the men followed.

O'Brien kicked and struggled, snarling and snapping at the hands that clutched him from every side.

Little Johnny Sheehan broke out into wild screaming, but the men took no notice of him.

O'Brien was bent backward to the deck, the tureen cover under his neck.

Gorman was shoved forward.

Some one had thrust a large sheath knife into his hand.

Do yer dooty, do yard doughty.

The men cried.

The cook bent over, but he caught the boy's eyes and faltered.

If ye don't, I'll kill ye with mihon hands, Behin shouted from every side.

A torrent of abuse and threats poured in upon the cook.

Still he hung back.

Maybe they'll being more blood in his veins than O'Brien's, Sullivan suggested significantly Behine cut Gorman by the hair and twisted his head back, while Sullivan attempted to take possession of the sheath knife, but Gorman clung to it desperately.

Let go and I'll do it, he screamed, frantically.

Don't be cut in me throat.

I'll do the deed.

I'll do the deed.

See that you do it.

Then the captain threatened him.

Gorman allowed himself to be shoved forward.

He looked at the boy, closed his eyes and muttered a prayer.

Then, without opening his eyes, he did the deed that had been appointed him.

O'Brien admitted a shriek that sank swiftly to a gurgling sob.

The men held him till his struggles ceased.

When he was laid upon the deck, they were eager and impatient, and with oaths and threats, they urged Gorman to hurry with the preparation of the meal.

Lave it, you bloody butchers, Mahoney said, quietly leave it, Italians.

Ye'll not be kneading at any of it now, tis as I said, Ye'll not be profiting by the lad's blood.

Emptied it overside, Bhan, emptied it overside Behan, still holding the tureen cover in both his hands, glanced to windward.

He walked to the rail and throw the cover and contents into the sea.

A full rigged ship was bearing down upon them a short mile away.

So occupied had they been with the deed just committed that none had had eyes for a lookout.

All hands watched her coming on the brightly coppered forefoot, parting the water like a golden knife, the head sails flapping lazily and emptily at each downward surge, and the towering canvas tears, dipping and curtseying with each stately swing of the sea.

No man spoke as she hoved too a cable length away.

The captain of the Francis Fate bestirred himself and ordered a tarpaulin to be thrown over O'Brien's corpse.

A boat was lowered from the Stranger's side and began to pull toward them.

John Garman laughed.

He laughed softly at first, but he accompanied each stroke of the oars with spasmodically increasing glee.

It was this maniacal laughter that greeted the rescue boat as it hauled alongside, and the first officer clambered on board end of the Francis Spate by Jack London