The Monticellonian., 1919-09-12
CHAPTER |.
The Las st Round.

An oily sea Stillness-absolute
stiffness, save for the groan and creak
of the yards md booms, rs the bark
rolled lifelessly on the long, simmer
ing swells. Not breath of air; only
sitting heat that beat upon the decks
until the pitch in the seams dubbed.
Only Il waste of water that reflected
the merciless tropic glare of the sun
and hurt the eyes cruelty.
Under an awning in the stern a man
in cotton shirt and trousers, who was
huddled in a chair by the cabin sky
light. lifted his head and mumbled
through cracked lips
Twenty grains of calomel. twenty
four quinlne-magnesia, peppermint
water gone"
His hands fumbled with the drugs
from the ships medicine chest that
strewed the skylight, and guessing at
the quantities, carried portions to his
mouth. He swallowed with difficulty,
and relapsed into huddled position.
After a little he raised his head
once more and began to count upon
his fingers. One, two, three, four, five
was it five or eight days, or ten, or
a month that the calm had lasted? He
did not know. He had lost all track
of time But it worried him, and to
his sick brain assumed very vital pro-
portions. The ships log would tell
him.
He reached for it and began to scan
the entries. It was strange that try
ing to read brought red flashes and
pain to his eyes.
The words came only to him in
snatches.
October TO- Still becalmed In
tense heat Native boatswain took
sick this morning
October -. Buried boatswain last
night. Four more of crew down.
We've got yellow fever aboard. God
help us if we don't get breeze -
His eyes went on down the page in
a haphazard, irresponsible way, skip
ping entries here and there uncon-
seiously
"StlH becalmed. God have mercy
on u.s. Native crew all down. China
man named Won Su, after making a
murderous attack in his delirium ON
Wallen. the first mate, jumped over
board"
Yes, he remembered that. He was
Wallen-Stacey Wallen-the first mate
of the bark Upolo. 1t had been hor
rihe sight.
The poor devil had rushed at him
screaming and-he shuddered little
he did not want to think of that.
What was this entry here?
The heat is horrible. Survivors too
weak to bury the dead. Captain
Mitchell died at , 10 a. m"
That was the last entry There
wasn't any date on it. He couldn't re
member whether it had been yester-
day or the day before. Well, what did
it matter; and, anyway, it was time
TO make rounds.
Rounds,
What rounds were there to make?
Everybody was dead. Johnson, the sec
ond mate, had died that morning.
though he hadn't made the entry of
Johnson's death in the log what was
the good? There wasn't any more use
for los Everybody was dead ex-
cept himself-the other two white men
and the crew. who were all natives.
And now he was down, too; he was
only waiting for the fever to run its
course.
That would take maybe a few hours
more
a voice within him seemed 10 keep
Whispering, Rounds You've got 10
make rounds. make rounds. For two
days or nights, or whenever it was
since johnson had first taken sick, he
had made rounds increasingly with the
medicines; that was Why the medi-
eines were on the skylight 50 that he
wouldn't have to 90 below.
Bur making rounds was over now;
there WAS no one to make rounds for
y-there was only himself. "RoUndsl