fear. The captain--Oudouse, his name was, a Frenchman--became
very nervous and voluble. The German, the two Americans, and
myself bought up all the Scotch whisky and proceeded to drink.
The theory was beautiful--namely, if we kept ourselves soaked in
alcohol, every smallpox germ that came into contact with us would
immediately be scorched to a cinder. And the theory worked,
though I must confess that neither Captain Oudouse nor Ah Choon
was attacked by the disease either. The Frenchman did not drink
at all, while Ah Choon restricted himself to one drink daily.

We had a week of it, and then the whisky gave out. It was just as
well, or I shouldn't be alive now. It took a sober man to pull
through what followed, as you will agree when I mention the
little fact that only two men did pull through. The other man was
the Heathen--at least that was what I heard Captain Oudouse call
him at the moment I first became aware of the Heathen's
existence.

But to come back. It was at the end of the week that I happened
to glance at the barometer that hung in the cabin companion-way.
Its normal register in the Paumotus was 29.90, and it was quite
customary to see it vacillate between 29.85 and 30.00, or even
30.05; but to see it, as I saw it, down to 29.62, was sufficient
to chill the blood of any pearl-buyer in Oceania.

I called Captain Oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed
that he had watched it going down for several hours. There was
little to do, but that little he did very well, considering the
circumstances. He took off the light sails, shortened right down
to storm canvas, spread life-lines, and waited for the wind. His