The axe is locked in the captain’s cabin.
(Signed) Ralph
Leslie.
John Robert Burns
Charles Klineordlinger (Jones)
William McNamara
Witnesses Carl L. Clarke
Joseph Q. Adams
John Oleson
Tom MacKenzie
Obadiah Williams
THE FIRST MATE TALKS
Williams came up on deck late that afternoon, with
a scared face, and announced that Mr. Turner had locked
himself in his cabin, and was raving in delirium on
the other side of the door. I sent Burns down
having decided, in view of Mrs. Johns’s accusation,
to keep away from the living quarters of the family.
Burns’s report corroborated what Williams had
said. Turner was in the grip of delirium tremens,
and the Ella was without owner or officers.
Turner refused to open either door for us. As
well as we could make out, he was moving rapidly but
almost noiselessly up and down the room, muttering
to himself, now and then throwing himself on the bed,
only to get up at once. He rang his bell a dozen
times, and summoned Williams, only, in reply to the
butler’s palpitating knock, to stand beyond
the door and refuse to open it or to voice any request.
The situation became so urgent that finally I was
forced to go down, with no better success.
Mrs. Turner dragged herself across, on the state of
affairs being reported to her, and, after two or three
abortive attempts, succeeded in getting a reply from
him.
“Marsh!” she called. “I want
to talk to you. Let me in.”
“They’ll get us,” he said craftily.
“Us? Who is with you?”
“Vail,” he replied promptly. “He’s
here talking. He won’t let me sleep.”
“Tell him to give you the key and you will keep
it for him so no one can get him,” I prompted.
I had had some experience with such cases in the
hospital.
She tried it without any particular hope, but it succeeded
immediately. He pushed the key out under the
door, and almost at once we heard him throw himself
on the bed, as if satisfied that the problem of his
security was solved.
Mrs. Turner held the key out to me, but I would not
take it.
“Give it to Williams,” I said. “You
must understand, Mrs. Turner, that I cannot take it.”
She was a woman of few words, and after a glance at
my determined face she turned to the butler.
“You will have to look after Mr. Turner, Williams.
See that he is comfortable, and try to keep him in
bed.”
Williams put out a trembling hand, but, before he
took the key, Turner’s voice rose petulantly
on the other side of the door.
“For God’s sake, Wilmer,” he cried
plaintively, “get out and let me sleep I haven’t
slept for a month.”
