"All right, Mistah Fortescue, sar," he said; "you no trouble.  I take dem captain back to de gig by myself, and find Mistah Hutchinson," (the surgeon).  "But it no good, sar; he gone dead.  Look dere."  And he pointed to a ghastly great hole in the side of the skipper's head, just above the left ear, where a piece of langrage of some description had crashed its way through the poor fellow's skull into his brain.  It was a horrid sight, and it turned me quite sick for the moment, accustomed though I was by this time to see men suffering from all sorts of injuries.