"She said the light man and the
dark man would make no end o' trouble," he cried; "and he--"
"Keep still," another voice exclaimed angrily. "It was Bill Hayden," the
voice continued. "He hollered."
Getting out of my bunk, I crossed the forecastle. "Bill," I said, "are you
all right?"
He started up wildly. "Don't hit me!" he cried. "That wasn't what I said--
it--I don't remember _just_ what I said, because I ain't good at
remembering, but it wasn't that--don't-oh! oh!--I _know_ it wasn't that."
Two of the men joined me, moving cautiously for the ship was pitching now
in short, heavy seas.
"What's that he's saying?" one of them asked.
Before I could answer, Bill seemed suddenly to get control of himself.
"Oh," he moaned. "I've got such a pain in my innards! I've got a rolling,
howling old pain in my innards."
There was little that we could do, so we smoothed his blankets and went
back to our own. The Island Princess was pitching more fiercely than ever
now, and while I watched the lantern swing and toss before I went to sleep,
I heard old Blodgett saying something about squalls and cross seas. There
was not much rest for us that night. No sooner had I hauled the blankets to
my chin and closed my eyes, than a shout came faintly down to us,
"All-hands--on deck!"
Some one called, "Ay, ay," and we rolled out again wearily--all except Bill
Hayden whose fitful tossing seemed to have settled at last into deep sleep.
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