glasses filled with ice, on Turner's morose face and Vail's watchful
one. In the forecastle, much gossip and not a little fear, and in
the forward house, where Captain Richardson and Singleton had their
quarters, veiled hostility and sullen silence.

August 11 was Tuesday, a hot August day, with only enough air going
to keep our sails filled. At five o'clock I served afternoon tea,
and shortly after I went to Williams's cabin in the forward house to
dress the wound in his head, a long cut, which was now healing. I
passed the captain's cabin, and heard him quarreling with the first
mate, who was replying, now and then, sullenly. Only the tones of
their voices reached me.

When I had finished with Williams, and was returning, the quarrel
was still going on. Their voices ceased as I passed the door, and
there was a crash, as of a chair violently overturned. The next bit
I heard.

"Put that down!" the captain roared.

I listened, uncertain whether to break in or not. The next moment,
Singleton opened the door and saw me. I went on as if I had heard
nothing.

Beyond that, the day was much as other days. Turner ate no dinner
that night. He was pale, and twitching; even with my small
experience, I knew he was on the verge of delirium tremens. He did
not play cards, and spent much of the evening wandering restlessly
about on deck. Mrs. Turner retired early. Mrs. Johns played
accompaniments for Vail to sing to, in the chart-room, until