The breeze kept on freshening and blew true, true to a hair. At daylight by careful manipulation of the helm we got the foreyards to run square by themselves (the water keeping smooth) and then went about hauling the ropes tight. Of the four men I had with me at night, I could see now only two. I didn’t inquire as to the others. They had given in. For a time only I hoped.

Our various tasks forward occupied us for hours, the two men with me moved so slow and had to rest so often. One of them remarked that “every blamed thing in the ship felt about a hundred times heavier than its proper weight.” This was the only complaint uttered. I don’t know what we should have done without Ransome. He worked with us, silent, too, with a little smile frozen on his lips. From time to time I murmured to him: “Go steady”—“Take it easy, Ransome”—and received a quick glance in reply.

When we had done all we could do to make things safe, he disappeared into his galley. Some time afterward, going forward for a look round, I caught sight of him through the open door. He sat upright on the locker in front of the stove, with his head leaning back against the bulkhead. His eyes were closed; his capable hands held open the front of his thin cotton shirt baring tragically his powerful chest, which heaved in painful and laboured gasps. He didn’t hear me.

I retreated quietly and went straight on to the poop to relieve Frenchy, who by that time was beginning to look very sick. He gave me the course with great formality and tried to go off with a jaunty step, but reeled widely twice before getting out of my sight.

And then I remained all alone aft, steering my ship, which ran before the wind with a buoyant lift now and then, and even rolling a little. Presently Ransome appeared before me with a tray. The sight of food made me ravenous all at once. He took the wheel while I sat down of the after grating to eat my breakfast.

“This breeze seems to have done for our crowd,” he murmured. “It just laid them low—all hands.”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose you and I are the only two fit men in the ship.”

“Frenchy says there’s still a jump left in him. I don’t know. It can’t be much,” continued Ransome with his wistful smile. Good little man that. But suppose, sir, that this wind flies round when we are close to the land—what are we going to do with her?”

“If the wind shifts round heavily after we close in with the land she will either run ashore or get dismasted or both. We won’t be able to do anything with her. She’s running away with us now. All we can do is to steer her. She’s a ship without a crew.”

“Yes. All laid low,” repeated Ransome quietly. “I do give them a look-in forward every now and then, but it’s precious little I can do for them.”

“I, and the ship, and every one on board of her, are very much indebted to you, Ransome,” I said warmly.

He made as though he had not heard me, and steered in silence till I was ready to relieve him. He surrendered the wheel, picked up the tray, and for a parting shot informed me that Mr. Burns was awake and seemed to have a mind to come up on deck.

“I don’t know how to prevent him, sir. I can’t very well stop down below all the time.”

It was clear that he couldn’t. And sure enough Mr. Burns came on deck dragging himself painfully aft in his enormous overcoat. I beheld him with a natural dread. To have him around and raving about the wiles of a dead man while I had to steer a wildly rushing ship full of dying men was a rather dreadful prospect.

But his first remarks were quite sensible in meaning and tone. Apparently he had no recollection of the night scene. And if he had he didn’t betray himself once. Neither did he talk very much. He sat on