He dozed off for a few moments again.
"But I've got enough in this pack to turn the world inside out with wonder—ah, what a sensation it will be, what an educational feature! It will send out a hundred harum-scarum expeditions to find Polaria—but there are few commanders like Captain Burrows; he could do it, the rest of 'em will die in the ice. But when I get to San Fran——. Say, captain, how long will it take to get there, and how long before you start?"
Enoch and I exchanged glances, and Enoch answered: "We wa'n't goin' to 'Frisco."
"Around the Horn, then?" inquired the stranger, sitting up. "But you will land me in 'Frisco, won't you? I can't wait, I must——"
"We're goin' in," said Enoch; "goin' north, for a three-years' cruise."
"North!" shouted the stranger, wildly. "Three years in that hell of ice. Three years! My God! North! North!"
He was dancing around the deck like a maniac, trying to put his pack-loop over his head. Enoch went toward him, to tell him how he could go on the "Enchantress," but he looked wildly at him, ran forward and sprang out on the bowsprit, and from there to the jib. Enoch saw he was out of his mind, and ordered two sailors to bring him in. As they sprang on to the bow, he stood up and screamed:
"No! No! No! Three years! Three lives! Three hells! I never——"
One of the men reached for him here, but he kicked at the sailor viciously, and turning sidewise, sprang into the water below.