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Updated: June 28, 2025
"And I ain't never seen even a photo of him," Mr. Pike added. "But I've got a general idea of his looks, and he's got a mark unmistakable. I could know him by it in the dark. All I'd have to do is feel it. Some day I'll stick my fingers into that mark." "What did you say, sir, was the captain's name?" Mr. Mellaire asked casually. "Somers old Captain Somers," Mr. Pike answered. Mr.
He is very fair-skinned, and I noticed this afternoon, when he was pulling on a brace, that the sleeves of his oil-skins, assisted by the salt water, have chafed his wrists till they are raw and bleeding and breaking out in sea-boils. Mr. Mellaire tells me that in another week there will be a plague of these boils with all hands for'ard. "When do you think we'll be up with the Horn again?"
Mellaire, nor I, among ourselves, mention a whisper of what so narrowly missed causing disaster. In fact, Mr. Pike does not talk about the matter at all. And then, again, might it not have been something different from heart disease? Or heart disease complicated with something else that obscured his mind that afternoon before his death?
Charles Davis resides alone in his little steel room, coming out only to get his food from the galley. Miss West plays and sings, doctors Possum, launders, and is for ever otherwise busy with her fancy work. Mr. Pike runs the phonograph every other evening in the second dog-watch. Mr. Mellaire hides the cleft in his head. I keep his secret.
Pike to set the mizzen-topgallant?" And at that very instant Mr. Pike's voice rang out from the break of the poop: "Mr. Mellaire! the mizzen-topgallant!" Captain West's head drooped until his chin rested on his breast, and so low did he mutter that I leaned to hear. "A very good officer," he said. "An excellent officer. Mr. Pathurst, if you will kindly favour me, I should like to go in.
Pike, now, and if ever he discovers the identity of Mr. Mellaire, murder will be done. Mr. Mellaire is not Mr. Mellaire. He is not from Georgia. He is from Virginia. His name is Waltham Sidney Waltham. He is one of the Walthams of Virginia, a black sheep, true, but a Waltham. Of this I am convinced, just as utterly as I am convinced that Mr. Pike will kill him if he learns who he is.
Through the emergencies I could see the pencil of light, appearing and disappearing, darting here and there. Several minutes later the mates were back with me. "Half our head-gear's carried away," Mr. Pike told me. "We must have run into something." "I felt a jar, right after you' went below, sir, last time," said Mr. Mellaire. "Only I thought it was a thump of sea."
Right and left the two mates shoved them away, and dragged the lunatic down the deck and into a room in the 'midship house. I could not help marking the strength of Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire. I had heard of the superhuman strength of madmen, but this particular madman was as a wisp of straw in their hands. Once into the bunk, Mr.
Around the corner of the house strolled Shorty, flinging up to me his inevitable clown-grin. One hand was swathed in bandages. "Must have kept Mr. Pike busy," was my comment to Mr. Mellaire. "He was sewing up cripples about all his watch from four till eight." "What?" I asked. "Are there any more?" "One more, sir, a sheeny. I didn't know his name before, but Mr. Pike got it Isaac B. Chantz.
Cape Horn is iron, and it takes masters of iron to win around from east to west. And we make easting! This west wind is eternal. I listen incredulously when Mr. Pike or Mr. Mellaire tells of times when easterly winds have blown in these latitudes. It is impossible. Always does the west wind blow, gale upon gale and gales everlasting, else why the "Great West Wind Drift" printed on the charts!
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