Chapter III--The Jessie

by Jack London

　　Two days passed, and Sheldon felt that he could not grow any weakerand live, much less make his four daily rounds of the hospital.The deaths were averaging four a day, and there were more new casesthan recoveries. The blacks were in a funk. Each one, when takensick, seemed to make every effort to die. Once down on their backsthey lacked the grit to make a struggle. They believed they weregoing to die, and they did their best to vindicate that belief.Even those that were well were sure that it was only a mater ofdays when the sickness would catch them and carry them off. Andyet, believing this with absolute conviction, they somehow lackedthe nerve to rush the frail wraith of a man with the white skin andescape from the charnel house by the whale-boats. They chose thelingering death they were sure awaited them, rather than theimmediate death they were very sure would pounce upon them if theywent up against the master. That he never slept, they knew. Thathe could not be conjured to death, they were equally sure--they hadtried it. And even the sickness that was sweeping them off couldnot kill him.

　　With the whipping in the compound, discipline had improved. Theycringed under the iron hand of the white man. They gave theirscowls or malignant looks with averted faces or when his back wasturned. They saved their mutterings for the barracks at night,where he could not hear. And there were no more runaways and nomore night-prowlers on the veranda.

　　Dawn of the third day after the whipping brought the Jessie's whitesails in sight. Eight miles away, it was not till two in theafternoon that the light air-fans enabled her to drop anchor aquarter of a mile off the shore. The sight of her gave Sheldonfresh courage, and the tedious hours of waiting did not irk him.He gave his orders to the boss-boys and made his regular trips tothe hospital. Nothing mattered now. His troubles were at an end.He could lie down and take care of himself and proceed to get well.The Jessie had arrived. His partner was on board, vigorous andhearty from six weeks' recruiting on Malaita. He could take chargenow, and all would be well with Berande.

　　Sheldon lay in the steamer-chair and watched the Jessie's whale-boat pull in for the beach. He wondered why only three sweeps werepulling, and he wondered still more when, beached, there was somuch delay in getting out of the boat. Then he understood. Thethree blacks who had been pulling started up the beach with astretcher on their shoulders. A white man, whom he recognized asthe Jessie's captain, walked in front and opened the gate, thendropped behind to close it. Sheldon knew that it was HughieDrummond who lay in the stretcher, and a mist came before his eyes.He felt an overwhelming desire to die. The disappointment was toogreat. In his own state of terrible weakness he felt that it wasimpossible to go on with his task of holding Berande plantationtight-gripped in his fist. Then the will of him flamed up again,and he directed the blacks to lay the stretcher beside him on thefloor. Hughie Drummond, whom he had last seen in health, was anemaciated skeleton. His closed eyes were deep-sunken. Theshrivelled lips had fallen away from the teeth, and the cheek-bonesseemed bursting through the skin. Sheldon sent a house-boy for histhermometer and glanced questioningly at the captain.

　　"Black-water fever," the captain said. "He's been like this forsix days, unconscious. And we've got dysentery on board. What'sthe matter with you?"

　　"I'm burying four a day," Sheldon answered, as he bent over fromthe steamer-chair and inserted the thermometer under his partner'stongue.

　　Captain Oleson swore blasphemously, and sent a house-boy to bringwhisky and soda. Sheldon glanced at the thermometer.

　　"One hundred and seven," he said. "Poor Hughie."

　　Captain Oleson offered him some whisky.

　　"Couldn't think of it--perforation, you know," Sheldon said.

　　He sent for a boss-boy and ordered a grave to be dug, also some ofthe packing-cases to be knocked together into a coffin. The blacksdid not get coffins. They were buried as they died, being cartedon a sheet of galvanized iron, in their nakedness, from thehospital to the hole in the ground. 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 tohelp himself to more whisky. "It's ben fair hell, Mr. Sheldon, Itell you. Contrary winds and calms. We've ben driftin' all aboutthe shop for ten days. There's ten thousand sharks following usfor 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 anor'wester'd come along an' blow the Solomons clean to hell."

　　"We got it from the water--water from Owga creek. Filled my caskswith it. How was we to know? I've filled there before an' it wasall 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, damnthem! They die out of spite. Only three of my crew left on itslegs. Five more down. Seven dead. Oh, hell! What's the good oftalkin'?"

　　"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 getthem ashore somehow.--Viaburi! Hey, you, Viaburi, ring big fellabell strong fella too much."

　　The hands, called in from the fields at that unwonted hour, weresplit into detachments. Some were sent into the woods to cuttimber for house-beams, others to cutting cane-grass for thatching,and forty of them lifted a whale-boat above their heads and carriedit down to the sea. Sheldon had gritted his teeth, pulled hiscollapsing soul together, and taken Berande plantation into hisfist once more.

　　"Have you seen the barometer?" Captain Oleson asked, pausing at thebottom of the steps on his way to oversee the disembarkation of thesick.

　　"No," Sheldon answered. "Is it down?"

　　"It's going down."

　　"Then you'd better sleep aboard to-night," was Sheldon's judgment."Never mind the funeral. I'll see to poor Hughie."

　　"A nigger was kicking the bucket when I dropped anchor."

　　The captain made the statement as a simple fact, but obviouslywaited for a suggestion. The other felt a sudden wave ofirritation rush through him.

　　"Dump him over," he cried. "Great God, man! don't you think I'vegot enough graves ashore?"

　　"I just wanted to know, that was all," the captain answered, in nowise offended.

　　Sheldon regretted his childishness.

　　"Oh, Captain Oleson," he called. "If you can see your way to it,come ashore to-morrow and lend me a hand. If you can't, send themate."

　　"Right O. I'll come myself. Mr. Johnson's dead, sir. I forgot totell you--three days ago."

　　Sheldon watched the Jessie's captain go down the path, with wavingarms and loud curses calling upon God to sink the Solomons. Next,Sheldon noted the Jessie rolling lazily on the glassy swell, andbeyond, in the north-west, high over Florida Island, an alpinechain of dark-massed clouds. Then he turned to his partner,calling for boys to carry him into the house. But Hughie Drummondhad reached the end. His breathing was imperceptible. By meretouch, Sheldon could ascertain that the dying man's temperature wasgoing down. It must have been going down when the thermometerregistered one hundred and seven. He had burned out. Sheldonknelt beside him, the house-boys grouped around, their whitesinglets and loin-cloths peculiarly at variance with their darkskins and savage countenances, their huge ear-plugs and carved andglistening nose-rings. Sheldon tottered to his feet at last, andhalf-fell into the steamer-chair. Oppressive as the heat had been,it was now even more oppressive. It was difficult to breathe. Hepanted for air. The faces and naked arms of the house-boys werebeaded with sweat.

　　"Marster," one of them ventured, "big fella wind he come, strongfella too much."

　　Sheldon nodded his head but did not look. Much as he had lovedHughie Drummond, his death, and the funeral it entailed, seemed anintolerable burden to add to what he was already sinking under. Hehad a feeling--nay, it was a certitude--that all he had to do wasto shut his eyes and let go, and that he would die, sink intoimmensity of rest. He knew it; it was very simple. All he had todo was close his eyes and let go; for he had reached the stagewhere he lived by will alone. His weary body seemed torn by theoncoming pangs of dissolution. He was a fool to hang on. He haddied a score of deaths already, and what was the use of prolongingit to two-score deaths before he really died. Not only was he notafraid to die, but he desired to die. His weary flesh and wearyspirit desired it, and why should the flame of him not go utterlyout?

　　But his mind that could will life or death, still pulsed on. Hesaw the two whale-boats land on the beach, and the sick, onstretchers or pick-a-back, groaning and wailing, go by inlugubrious procession. He saw the wind making on the cloudedhorizon, and thought of the sick in the hospital. Here wassomething waiting his hand to be done, and it was not in his natureto lie down and sleep, or die, when any task remained undone.

　　The boss-boys were called and given their orders to rope down thehospital with its two additions. He remembered the spare anchor-chain, new and black-painted, that hung under the house suspendedfrom the floor-beams, and ordered it to be used on the hospital aswell. Other boys brought the coffin, a grotesque patchwork ofpacking-cases, and under his directions they laid Hughie Drummondin it. Half a dozen boys carried it down the beach, while he rodeon the back of another, his arms around the black's neck, one handclutching a prayer-book.

　　While he read the service, the blacks gazed apprehensively at thedark line on the water, above which rolled and tumbled the racingclouds. The first breath of the wind, faint and silken, tonic withlife, fanned through his dry-baked body as he finished reading.Then came the second breath of the wind, an angry gust, as theshovels worked rapidly, filling in the sand. So heavy was the gustthat Sheldon, still on his feet, seized hold of his man-horse toescape being blown away. The Jessie was blotted out, and a strangeominous sound arose as multitudinous wavelets struck foaming on thebeach. It was like the bubbling of some colossal cauldron. Fromall about could be heard the dull thudding of falling cocoanuts.The tall, delicate-trunked trees twisted and snapped about likewhip-lashes. The air seemed filled with their flying leaves, anyone of which, stem-on could brain a man. Then came the rain, adeluge, a straight, horizontal sheet that poured along like ariver, defying gravitation. The black, with Sheldon mounted onhim, plunged ahead into the thick of it, stooping far forward andlow to the ground to avoid being toppled over backward.

　　"'He's sleeping out and far to-night,'" Sheldon quoted, as hethought of the dead man in the sand and the rainwater tricklingdown upon the cold clay.

　　So they fought their way back up the beach. The other blackscaught hold of the man-horse and pulled and tugged. There wereamong them those whose fondest desire was to drag the rider in thesand and spring upon him and mash him into repulsive nothingness.But the automatic pistol in his belt with its rattling, quick-dealing death, and the automatic, death-defying spirit in the manhimself, made them refrain and buckle down to the task of haulinghim to safety through the storm.

　　Wet through and exhausted, he was nevertheless surprised at theease with which he got into a change of clothing. Though he wasfearfully weak, he found himself actually feeling better. Thedisease had spent itself, and the mend had begun.

　　"Now if I don't get the fever," he said aloud, and at the samemoment resolved to go to taking quinine as soon as he was strongenough to dare.

　　He crawled out on the veranda. The rain had ceased, but the wind,which had dwindled to a half-gale, was increasing. A big sea hadsprung up, and the mile-long breakers, curling up to the over-falltwo hundred yards from shore, were crashing on the beach. TheJessie was plunging madly to two anchors, and every second or thirdsea broke clear over her bow. Two flags were stiffly undulatingfrom the halyards like squares of flexible sheet-iron. One wasblue, the other red. He knew their meaning in the Berande privatecode--"What are your instructions? Shall I attempt to land boat?"Tacked on the wall, between the signal locker and the billiardrules, was the code itself, by which he verified the signal beforemaking answer. On the flagstaff gaff a boy hoisted a white flagover a red, which stood for--"Run to Neal Island for shelter."

　　That Captain Oleson had been expecting this signal was apparent bythe celerity with which the shackles were knocked out of bothanchor-chains. He slipped his anchors, leaving them buoyed to bepicked up in better weather. The Jessie swung off under her fullstaysail, then the foresail, double-reefed, was run up. She wasaway like a racehorse, clearing Balesuna Shoal with half a cable-length to spare. Just before she rounded the point she wasswallowed up in a terrific squall that far out-blew the first.

　　All that night, while squall after squall smote Berande, uprootingtrees, overthrowing copra-sheds, and rocking the house on its tallpiles, Sheldon slept. He was unaware of the commotion. He neverwakened. Nor did he change his position or dream. He awoke, a newman. Furthermore, he was hungry. It was over a week since foodhad passed his lips. He drank a glass of condensed cream, thinnedwith water, and by ten o'clock he dared to take a cup of beef-tea.He was cheered, also, by the situation in the hospital. Despitethe storm there had been but one death, and there was only onefresh case, while half a dozen boys crawled weakly away to thebarracks. He wondered if it was the wind that was blowing thedisease away and cleansing the pestilential land.

　　By eleven a messenger arrived from Balesuna village, dispatched bySeelee. The Jessie had gone ashore half-way between the villageand Neal Island. It was not till nightfall that two of the crewarrived, reporting the drowning of Captain Oleson and of the oneremaining boy. As for the Jessie, from what they told him Sheldoncould not but conclude that she was a total loss. Further tohearten him, he was taken by a shivering fit. In half an hour hewas burning up. And he knew that at least another day must passbefore he could undertake even the smallest dose of quinine. Hecrawled under a heap of blankets, and a little later found himselflaughing aloud. He had surely reached the limit of disaster.Barring earthquake or tidal-wave, the worst had already befallenhim. The Flibberty-Gibbet was certainly safe in Mboli Pass. Sincenothing worse could happen, things simply had to mend. So it was,shivering under his blankets, that he laughed, until the house-boys, with heads together, marvelled at the devils that were inhim.