The voice of the look-out man hailed from forward: 

“Land on the port bow, sir.”

“All right.”

Leaning on the rail I never even raised my eyes.

The motion of the ship was imperceptible.  Presently Ransome brought me the cup of morning coffee.  After I had drunk it I looked ahead, and in the still streak of very bright pale orange light I saw the land profiled flatly as if cut out of black paper and seeming to float on the water as light as cork.  But the rising sun turned it into mere dark vapour, a doubtful, massive shadow trembling in the hot glare.

The watch finished washing decks.  I went below and stopped at Mr. Burns’ door (he could not bear to have it shut), but hesitated to speak to him till he moved his eyes.  I gave him the news.

“Sighted Cape Liant at daylight.  About fifteen miles.”

He moved his lips then, but I heard no sound till I put my ear down, and caught the peevish comment:  “This is crawling. . . .  No luck.”

“Better luck than standing still, anyhow,” I pointed out resignedly, and left him to whatever thoughts or fancies haunted his awful immobility.

Later that morning, when relieved by my second officer, I threw myself on my couch and for some three hours or so I really found oblivion.  It was so perfect that on waking up I wondered where I was.  Then came the immense relief of the thought:  on board my ship!  At sea!  At sea!

Through the port-holes I beheld an unruffled, sun-smitten horizon.  The horizon of a windless day.  But its spaciousness alone was enough to give me a sense of a fortunate escape, a momentary exultation of freedom.

I stepped out into the saloon with my heart lighter than it had been for days.  Ransome was at the sideboard preparing to lay the table for the first sea dinner of the passage.  He turned his head, and something in his eyes checked my modest elation.

Instinctively I asked:  “What is it now?” not expecting in the least the answer I got.  It was given with that sort of contained serenity which was characteristic of the man.

“I am afraid we haven’t left all sickness behind us, sir.”

“We haven’t!  What’s the matter?”

He told me then that two of our men had been taken bad with fever in the night.  One of them was burning and the other was shivering, but he thought that it was pretty much the same thing.  I thought so, too.  I felt shocked by the news.  “One burning, the other shivering, you say?  No.  We haven’t left the sickness behind.  Do they look very ill?”

“Middling bad, sir.”  Ransome’s eyes gazed steadily into mine.  We exchanged smiles.  Ransome’s a little wistful, as usual, mine no doubt grim enough, to correspond with my secret exasperation.

I asked: 

“Was there any wind at all this morning?”

“Can hardly say that, sir.  We’ve moved all the time though.  The land ahead seems a little nearer.”