Chapter 3 - Page 2

Drummond who lay in the stretcher, and a mist came before his eyes.
He felt an overwhelming desire to die. The disappointment was too
great. In his own state of terrible weakness he felt that it was
impossible to go on with his task of holding Berande plantation
tight-gripped in his fist. Then the will of him flamed up again,
and he directed the blacks to lay the stretcher beside him on the
floor. Hughie Drummond, whom he had last seen in health, was an
emaciated skeleton. His closed eyes were deep-sunken. The
shrivelled lips had fallen away from the teeth, and the cheek-bones
seemed bursting through the skin. Sheldon sent a house-boy for his
thermometer and glanced questioningly at the captain.

"Black-water fever," the captain said. "He's been like this for
six days, unconscious. And we've got dysentery on board. What's
the matter with you?"

"I'm burying four a day," Sheldon answered, as he bent over from
the steamer-chair and inserted the thermometer under his partner's
tongue.

Captain Oleson swore blasphemously, and sent a house-boy to bring
whisky and soda. Sheldon glanced at the thermometer.

"One hundred and seven," he said. "Poor Hughie."

Captain Oleson offered him some whisky.

"Couldn't think of it--perforation, you know," Sheldon said.

He sent for a boss-boy and ordered a grave to be dug, also some of
the packing-cases to be knocked together into a coffin. The blacks
did not get coffins. They were buried as they died, being carted
on a sheet of galvanized iron, in their nakedness, from the
hospital to the hole in the ground. Having given the orders,
Sheldon lay back in his chair with closed eyes.

"It's ben fair hell, sir," Captain Oleson began, then broke off to
help himself to more whisky. "It's ben fair hell, Mr. Sheldon, I
tell you. Contrary winds and calms. We've ben driftin' all about
the shop for ten days. There's ten thousand sharks following us
for the tucker we've ben throwin' over to them. They was snappin'
at the oars when we started to come ashore. I wisht to God a
nor'wester'd come along an' blow the Solomons clean to hell."

"We got it from the water--water from Owga creek. Filled my casks
with it. How was we to know? I've filled there before an' it was
all right. We had sixty recruits-full up; and my crew of fifteen.
We've ben buryin' them day an' night. The beggars won't live, damn
them! They die out of spite. Only three of my crew left on its
legs. Five more down. Seven dead. Oh, hell! What's the good of
talkin'?"

"How many recruits left?" Sheldon asked.

"Lost half. Thirty left. Twenty down, and ten tottering around."

Sheldon sighed.

"That means another addition to the hospital. We've got to get