“Come to me, come; that gulf will draw me in!”
“What is the matter with you, Fabian,” said I, taking him by both hands; “what is the matter, my friend?”
“I have here,” said he, pressing his hand on his heart, “I have here a disease which will kill me.”
“A disease?” said I to him, “a disease with no hope of cure?”
“No hope.”
And without another word Fabian went to the saloon, and then on to his cabin.
CHAPTER XII.
The next day, Saturday, 30th of March, the weather was fine, and the sea calm; our progress was more rapid, and the “Great Eastern” was now going at the rate of twelve knots an hour.
The wind had set south, and the first officer ordered the mizen and the top-mast sails to be hoisted, so that the ship was perfectly steady. Under this fine sunny sky the upper decks again became crowded; ladies appeared in fresh costumes, some walking about, others sitting down—I was going to say on the grass-plats beneath the shady trees, and the children resumed their interrupted games. With a few soldiers in uniform, strutting about with their hands in their pockets, one might have fancied oneself on a French promenade.
At noon, the weather being favourable, Captain Anderson and two officers went on to the bridge, in order to take the sun’s altitude; each held a sextant in his hand, and from time to time scanned the southern horizon, towards which their horizon-glasses were inclined.