At ten o’clock they went below, but not until
I had quietly located every member of the crew.
I had the watch from eight to twelve that night,
and at half after ten Mrs. Johns came on deck again.
She did not speak to me, but dropped into a steamer-chair
and yawned, stretching out her arms. By the
light of the companion lantern, I saw that she had
put on one of the loose negligees she affected for
undress, and her arms were bare except for a fall of
lace.
At eight bells (midnight) Burns took my place.
Charlie Jones was at the wheel, and McNamara in the
crow’s-nest. Mrs. Johns was dozing in
her chair. The yacht was making perhaps four
knots, and, far behind, the small white light of the
jolly-boat showed where she rode.
I slept heavily, and at eight bells I rolled off my
blanket and prepared to relieve Burns. I was
stiff, weary, unrefreshed. The air was very
still and we were hardly moving. I took a pail
of water that stood near the rail, and, leaning far
out, poured it over my head and shoulders. As
I turned, dripping, Jones, relieved of the wheel,
touched me on the arm.
“Go back to sleep, boy,” he said kindly.
“We need you, and we’re goin’ to
need you more when we get ashore. You’ve
been talkin’ in your sleep till you plumb scared
me.”
But I was wide awake by that time, and he had had
as little sleep as I had. I refused, and we
went forward together, Jones to get coffee, which
stood all night on the galley stove.
It was still dark. The dawn, even in the less
than four weeks we had been out, came perceptibly
later. At the port forward corner of the after
house, Jones stumbled over something, and gave a sharp
exclamation. The next moment he was on his knees,
lighting a match.
Burns lay there on his face, unconscious, and bleeding
profusely from a cut on the back of his head—but
not dead.
THE AXE IS GONE
My first thought was of the after house. Jones,
who had been fond of Burns, was working over him,
muttering to himself. I felt his heart, which
was beating slowly but regularly, and, convinced that
he was not dying, ran down into the after house.
The cabin was empty: evidently the guard around
the pearl handled revolver had been given up on the
false promise of peace. All the lights were
going, however, and the heat was suffocating.
I ran to Miss Lee’s door, and tried it.
It was locked, but almost instantly she spoke from
inside:
“What is it?”
“Nothing much. Can you come out?”
She came a moment later, and I asked her to call into
each cabin to see if every one was safe. The
result was reassuring—no one had been disturbed;
and I was put to it to account to Miss Lee for my
anxiety without telling her what had happened.
I made some sort of excuse, which I have forgotten,
except that she evidently did not believe it.
