"I am not. Cartwright expects me to save him as much as possible and there are British officers and Board of Trade rules at Sar Leone. You don't imagine they'd let me start for Las Palmas? Surveys, reports, repairs and sending for another tug, might cost two or three thousand pounds. Then half my crew are sick and some are helpless, though I reckon they'll pick up sooner at sea than in an African hospital."
"It's a big risk. After all, I owe you much and know something about curing malarial fever. Besides, I'm a yachtsman and can steer and use the lead. If you'll take me, I'll go all the way. However, you ought to send Lister off. He can't hold out."
"He claims he can," Brown said dryly. "We have argued about his going to Grand Canary by a mail-boat, but he's obstinate. Means to finish the job; that's his sort! Anyhow, it's possible the Trade breeze will brace him up, and if he did go, the chances of my taking Arcturus to Liverpool are not good."
Montgomery stayed on board and when the tug returned with coal they hove anchor and began the long run to Las Palmas. For a time, Lister kept the engines going and superintended the pump on board the wreck, but he could not sleep and in the morning it was hard to drag himself from his bunk and start another laborious day. The strain was horrible and he was weakening fast, but it would be cooler soon and perhaps he might hold out until they met the invigorating Northeast breeze.
In the meantime, Cartwright went back to Liverpool, Mrs. Cartwright got better, and Barbara waited for news. She had refused Lister, but to refuse had cost her more than she had thought. After a time Cartwright wrote and stated that the tug and Arcturus had started home. No fresh news arrived and Barbara tried to hide her suspense, until one morning a small African liner steamed into port. Some passengers landed and when they lunched at the hotel one talked about his going off with the first officer to a ship that signaled for help.
"It was a moving picture," he said. "The rusty, weed-coated steamer rolling on the blue combers, and the little, battered tug, holding her head-to-sea. The breeze was strong and for some days they had not made three knots an hour. Well, I know something about fever, but they were all sick; the engineer delirious and very weak—"
Barbara, sitting near the passenger, made an effort for calm. Her heart beat and her breath came fast. Nobody remarked her abrupt movement and the other went on:
"Coal, food and fresh water were running out; their medicine chest was empty. Everything was foul with soot, coal-dust and salt. I expect it was long since they were able to clean decks. The skipper was in a hammock under the bridge-awning and could not get up. An African trader, Montgomery of a Liverpool house, seemed to have control. His skin was yellow, like a mulatto's."
A young American doctor to whom Barbara had been talking looked up.
"Jaundice after malaria!" he remarked. "I don't know West Africa, but I was at Panama! Was malaria all the rest had got?"