"They didn't come in where we did, that's sure."
"Maybe they were picked up."
"I hope so."
The faint light of the coming dawn was just beginning to steal in through the window when, a little later, they heard a low moan from the bunk where the captain had been laid. Bob hurried across the room, closely followed by Jack, and bent over the bed. The captain's eyes were open, but in them was no sign of recognition.
"Hard to the starboard," he muttered. And then, "Starboard I said, not port."
Bob laid his hand on the man's forehead and, as he expected, found it very hot.
"He's burning up with fever," he told Jack.
"You—you think?"
"Pneumonia, most likely."
Just then the door opened and Pierre came in with the announcement that breakfast was ready.