There are two of the passenger boys getting pushed off the
forecastle-head by their own friends on to the main deck."

"They look a mighty sick couple," said Kettle, "and their friends seem
very frightened. If this ship doesn't carry a doctor, it would be a good
thing if the old man were to start in and deal out some drugs."

It seemed that Rabeira was of the same opinion. He went down to the main
deck, and there, under the scorching tropical sunshine, interviewed the
two sick negroes in person, and afterwards administered to each of them
a draught from a blue glass bottle. Then he came up, smiling and
hospitable and perspiring, on to the bridge, and invited the pilots to
go below and dine. "Chop lib for cabin," said he; "palm-oil chop,
plenty-too-much-good. You lib for below and chop. I take dem ship myself
up dis next reach."

"Well, it is plain, deep water," said Nilssen, "and I guess you sabbey
how to keep in the middle as well as I do. Come along, Kettle."

The pair of them went below to the baking cabin and dined off a savory
orange-colored stew, and washed it down with fiery red wine, and dodged
the swarming, crawling cockroaches. The noise of angry negro voices came
to them between whiles through the hot air, like the distant chatter
of apes.

The Dane was obviously ill at ease and frightened; the Englishman,
though feeling a contempt for his companion, was very much on the alert
himself, and prepared for emergencies. There was that mysterious
something in the atmosphere which would have bidden the dullest of
mortals prepare for danger.