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