Chapter 3

CHAPTER III--THE JESSIE

Two days passed, and Sheldon felt that he could not grow any weaker
and live, much less make his four daily rounds of the hospital.
The deaths were averaging four a day, and there were more new cases
than recoveries. The blacks were in a funk. Each one, when taken
sick, seemed to make every effort to die. Once down on their backs
they lacked the grit to make a struggle. They believed they were
going to die, and they did their best to vindicate that belief.
Even those that were well were sure that it was only a mater of
days when the sickness would catch them and carry them off. And
yet, believing this with absolute conviction, they somehow lacked
the nerve to rush the frail wraith of a man with the white skin and
escape from the charnel house by the whale-boats. They chose the
lingering death they were sure awaited them, rather than the
immediate death they were very sure would pounce upon them if they
went up against the master. That he never slept, they knew. That
he could not be conjured to death, they were equally sure--they had
tried it. And even the sickness that was sweeping them off could
not kill him.

With the whipping in the compound, discipline had improved. They
cringed under the iron hand of the white man. They gave their
scowls or malignant looks with averted faces or when his back was
turned. They saved their mutterings for the barracks at night,
where he could not hear. And there were no more runaways and no
more night-prowlers on the veranda.

Dawn of the third day after the whipping brought the Jessie's white
sails in sight. Eight miles away, it was not till two in the
afternoon that the light air-fans enabled her to drop anchor a
quarter of a mile off the shore. The sight of her gave Sheldon
fresh courage, and the tedious hours of waiting did not irk him.
He gave his orders to the boss-boys and made his regular trips to
the hospital. Nothing mattered now. His troubles were at an end.
He could lie down and take care of himself and proceed to get well.
The Jessie had arrived. His partner was on board, vigorous and
hearty from six weeks' recruiting on Malaita. He could take charge
now, and all would be well with Berande.

Sheldon lay in the steamer-chair and watched the Jessie's whale-
boat pull in for the beach. He wondered why only three sweeps were
pulling, and he wondered still more when, beached, there was so
much delay in getting out of the boat. Then he understood. The
three blacks who had been pulling started up the beach with a
stretcher on their shoulders. A white man, whom he recognized as
the Jessie's captain, walked in front and opened the gate, then
dropped behind to close it. Sheldon knew that it was Hughie