Having given the orders, Sheldon lay back in his chair with
closed eyes.
"It's ben fair hell, sir," Captain Oleson began, then broke off to help
himself to more whisky. "It's ben fair hell, Mr. Sheldon, I tell you.
Contrary winds and calms. We've ben driftin' all about the shop for ten
days. There's ten thousand sharks following us for the tucker we've ben
throwin' over to them. They was snappin' at the oars when we started to
come ashore. I wisht to God a nor'wester'd come along an' blow the
Solomons clean to hell."
"We got it from the water--water from Owga creek. Filled my casks with
it. How was we to know? I've filled there before an' it was all right.
We had sixty recruits-full up; and my crew of fifteen. We've ben buryin'
them day an' night. The beggars won't live, damn them! They die out of
spite. Only three of my crew left on its legs. Five more down. Seven
dead. Oh, hell! What's the good of talkin'?"
"How many recruits left?" Sheldon asked.
"Lost half. Thirty left. Twenty down, and ten tottering around."
Sheldon sighed.
"That means another addition to the hospital. We've got to get them
ashore somehow.--Viaburi! Hey, you, Viaburi, ring big fella bell strong
fella too much."
The hands, called in from the fields at that unwonted hour, were split
into detachments.
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