spell of the haunting. I fought against it, laughing at my feelings as
absurd and childish, with very obvious physiological explanations, yet,
in spite of every effort, they gained in strength upon me so that I
dreaded the night as a child lost in a forest must dread the approach of
darkness.

The canoe we had carefully covered with a waterproof sheet during the
day, and the one remaining paddle had been securely tied by the Swede to
the base of a tree, lest the wind should rob us of that too. From five
o'clock onwards I busied myself with the stew-pot and preparations for
dinner, it being my turn to cook that night. We had potatoes, onions,
bits of bacon fat to add flavour, and a general thick residue from
former stews at the bottom of the pot; with black bread broken up into
it the result was most excellent, and it was followed by a stew of plums
with sugar and a brew of strong tea with dried milk. A good pile of wood
lay close at hand, and the absence of wind made my duties easy. My
companion sat lazily watching me, dividing his attentions between
cleaning his pipe and giving useless advice--an admitted privilege of
the off-duty man. He had been very quiet all the afternoon, engaged in
re-caulking the canoe, strengthening the tent ropes, and fishing for
driftwood while I slept. No more talk about undesirable things had
passed between us, and I think his only remarks had to do with the
gradual destruction of the island, which he declared was now fully a
third smaller than when we first landed.

The pot had just begun to bubble when I heard his voice calling to me
from the bank, where he had wandered away without my noticing. I ran up.

"Come and listen," he said, "and see what you make of it." He held his
hand cupwise to his ear, as so often before.