Mr.Burns, still keeping to his bed with that air of secret determination, was moved to grumble at many things.Our interviews were short five-minute affairs, but fairly frequent.I was everlast-ingly diving down below to get a light, though I did not consume much tobacco at that time.The pipe was always going out; for in truth my mind was not composed enough to enable me to get a decent smoke.Likewise, for most of the time during the twenty-four hours I could have struck matches on deck and held them aloft till the flame burnt my fingers.But I always used to run below.It was a change.It was the only break in the incessant strain; and, of course, Mr.Burns through the open door could see me come in and go out every time.
With his knees gathered up under his chin and staring with his greenish eyes over them, he was a weird figure, and with my knowledge of the crazy notion in his head, not a very attractive one for me.
Still, I had to speak to him now and then, and one day he complained that the ship was very silent.
For hours and hours, he said, he was lying there, not hearing a sound, till he did not know what to do with himself.
"When Ransome happens to be forward in his galley everything's so still that one might think everybody in the ship was dead," he grumbled.
"The only voice I do hear sometimes is yours, sir, and that isn't enough to cheer me up.What's the matter with the men? Isn't there one left that can sing out at the ropes?""Not one, Mr.Burns," I said."There is no breath to spare on board this ship for that.Are you aware that there are times when I can't muster more than three hands to do anything?"He asked swiftly but fearfully:
"Nobody dead yet, sir?"
"No."
"It wouldn't do," Mr.Burns declared forcibly.
"Mustn't let him.If he gets hold of one he will get them all."I cried out angrily at this.I believe I even swore at the disturbing effect of these words.
They attacked all the self-possession that was left to me.In my endless vigil in the face of the enemy I had been haunted by gruesome images enough.Ihad had visions of a ship drifting in calms and swinging in light airs, with all her crew dying slowly about her decks.Such things had been known to happen.
Mr.Burns met my outburst by a mysterious silence.
"Look here," I said."You don't believe your-self what you say.You can't.It's impossible.
It isn't the sort of thing I have a right to expect from you.My position's bad enough without being worried with your silly fancies."He remained unmoved.On account of the way in which the light fell on his head I could not be sure whether he had smiled faintly or not.Ichanged my tone.
"Listen," I said."It's getting so desperate that I had thought for a moment, since we can't make our way south, whether I wouldn't try to steer west and make an attempt to reach the mail-boat track.We could always get some quinine from her, at least.What do you think?"He cried out: "No, no, no.Don't do that, sir.
You mustn't for a moment give up facing that old ruffian.If you do he will get the upper hand of us."I left him.He was impossible.It was like a case of possession.His protest, however, was essentially quite sound.As a matter of fact, my notion of heading out west on the chance of sight-ing a problematical steamer could not bear calm examination.On the side where we were we had enough wind, at least from time to time, to struggle on toward the south.Enough, at least, to keep hope alive.But suppose that I had used those capricious gusts of wind to sail away to the west-ward, into some region where there was not a breath of air for days on end, what then? Perhaps my appalling vision of a ship floating with a dead crew would become a reality for the discovery weeks afterward by some horror-stricken mariners.
That afternoon Ransome brought me up a cup of tea, and while waiting there, tray in hand, he re-marked in the exactly right tone of sympathy:
"You are holding out well, sir."
"Yes," I said."You and I seem to have been forgotten.""Forgotten, sir?"
"Yes, by the fever-devil who has got on board this ship," I said.
Ransome gave me one of his attractive, intelli-gent, quick glances and went away with the tray.
It occurred to me that I had been talking some-what in Mr.Burns' manner.It annoyed me.Yet often in darker moments I forgot myself into an attitude toward our troubles more fit for a contest against a living enemy.
Yes.The fever-devil had not laid his hand yet either on Ransome or on me.But he might at any time.It was one of those thoughts one had to fight down, keep at arm's length at any cost.It was unbearable to contemplate the possibility of Ransome, the housekeeper of the ship, being laid low.And what would happen to my command if I got knocked over, with Mr.Burns too weak to stand without holding on to his bed-place and the second mate reduced to a state of permanent im-becility? It was impossible to imagine, or rather, it was only too easy to imagine.
I was alone on the poop.The ship having no steerage way, I had sent the helmsman away to sit down or lie down somewhere in the shade.The men's strength was so reduced that all unnecessary calls on it had to be avoided.It was the austere Gambril with the grizzly beard.He went away readily enough, but he was so weakened by re-peated bouts of fever, poor fellow, that in order to get down the poop ladder he had to turn sideways and hang on with both hands to the brass rail.It was just simply heart-breaking to watch.Yet he was neither very much worse nor much better than most of the half-dozen miserable victims I could muster up on deck.
