The minister stood still, his feet on the ladder. The three men by the rail were working like mad, their faces livid under the sunburn and their hands trembling. They pushed each other about and swore. They were not cowards, either. Ellery knew them well enough to know that. Burgess had, that very winter, pulled a skiff through broken ice in the face of a wicked no'theaster to rescue an old neighbor whose dory had been capsized in the bay while he was hauling lobster pots. But now Burgess was as scared as the rest.
Thoph and Bill sprang over the rail into the boat. Burgess turned and beckoned to Ellery.
“Come on!” he called. “What are you waitin' for?”
The minister remained where he was.
“Are you sure—” he faltered.
“Sure! Blast it all! I found the log. It ain't been kept for a fortni't, but there's enough. It's smallpox, I tell you. Two men died of it three weeks ago. The skipper died right afterwards. The mate—No wonder them that was left run away as soon as they sighted land. Come on! Do you want to die, too?”
From the poison pit at the foot of the ladder the man in the bunk called once more.
“Water!” he screeched. “Water! Are you goin' to leave me, you d—n cowards?”
“For Heaven sakes!” cried Burgess, clutching the rail, “what's that?”
Ellery answered him. “It's one of them,” he said, and his voice sounded odd in his own ears. “It's one of the crew.”