Hope began once more to fail them, and illness took its place.
Of the whole crew now only nine remained, and of these five were down with scurvy.
O reader, if ever you go to sea, I trust you will never have any experience of that dreariest of all diseases, scurvy. It is but little likely that you will, for never a ship sails now that is not well provided with its prophylactic antidote, lime juice.
I would not harrow any one’s feelings with describing the sufferings of these stricken men, their swollen limbs, their dusky, deathlike countenances, and their sadly sunken eyes.
One of the worst features of these cases was the terrible despondency of the poor fellows.
Sister Leona and Teenie, with Antonio himself, laboured hard among them, but so virulent were the attacks, that one by one all five dropped off.
They were simply sewn in their hammocks and cast overboard.
But dreadful to say, the other four hands of the working crew took ill next, and of these three died.
Then one of the blacks succumbed.
The plague, however, seemed now stayed, but there were hardly officers enough left to work the ship.