was commanded to proceed there at once, to anchor, and then to blow off
all her steam.

The doctor's tortured liver prompted him, and he spoke with spite. He
called Rabeira every vile name which came to his mind, and wound up his
harangue by rowing off to Chingka to make sure that the guns of the fort
should back up his commands.

The Portuguese captain was daunted then; there is no doubt about that.
He had known of this outbreak of small-pox for two days, had stifled his
qualms, and had taken his own peculiar methods of keeping the disease
hidden, and securing money profit for his ship. He had even gone so far
as to carry a smile on his dark, oily face, and a jest on his tongue.
But this prospect of being shut up with the disorder till it had run its
course inside the walls of the ship, and no more victims were to be
claimed, was too much for his nerve. He fled like some frightened animal
to his room, and deliberately set about guzzling a surfeit of
neat spirit.

Nilssen, from the bridge, fearful for his credit with the State, his
employer, roared out orders, but nobody attended to them. Mates,
quartermasters, Krooboys, had all gone aft so as to be as far as
possible from the smitten area; and in the end it was Kettle who went to
the forecastle-head, and with his own hands let steam into the windlass
and got the anchor. He stayed at his place. An engineer and fireman were
still below, and when Nilssen telegraphed down, they put her under weigh
again, and the older pilot with his own hands steered her across to the
quarantine berth. Then Kettle let go the anchor again, paid out and
stoppered the cable, and once more came aft; and from that moment the
new _regime_ of the steamer may be said to have commenced.