At seven bells, the sun being in sight, Fred was roused, to take meridian observations; and, as he stood in a patch of sunlight, I noticed that he wabbled unsteadily, and that his eyes were sunken and glassy. But I thought nothing of this until eight bells, when the skipper informed me that, on overhauling the burned-out storeroom, he had found a small keg of whiskey missing. As the men had assisted in putting out the fire, he thought it advisable to have an overhaul of the two forecastles, as whiskey in bulk was an unwise stimulant for sailors at sea. So, while he and Fred were at dinner, I searched the crew's quarters, but found nothing. In fact, remembering those glassy eyes, I did not expect to. I so reported to the skipper, and when I had finished my dinner I made a quick, unofficial, yet thorough, inspection of Fred's room, and found nothing there. But I made no report of this. He had hidden it.
From this on, Fred's condition was apparent to anyone who cared to observe. I so cared, but do not think that the skipper did. He talked with him, counseled him, and tutored him, glad, evidently, to be in a position to aid so promising a young man.
Fred received it all with sodden gravity, too drunk to question, yet sober enough to listen. I would have taken him in hand, bullied and coerced him into giving up that store of whiskey, had I not been maddened by jealousy and the sight of the girl's eyes, never resting upon me, but following Fred about the deck, with the adoring gaze of devotee. He was an exceptionally handsome youngster; and, to her, I suppose, was a demigod, who had heroically saved her life, while I was a person to be tolerated because necessary.
"Well," I said, between my teeth, "let him work out his own salvation—or damnation."
He worked out the latter. In the lower berth in my room, just across the passage from Fred's, was a living, wheezing, half-alive dead man—the disabled second mate, whose place I was filling. At first, he had glared unspeakable hatred at me, but as I had responded with a few kindly acts born of pity, this look left his eyes, and gave way to inquiry and interest. He could not speak, and could barely breathe, but about this time seemed anxious to say something to me. Every day he tried, and at last, somewhat distressed at his painful efforts, I advised him to wait until he could talk, and not bother me like this. So he stopped his efforts, and, as I had not thought to give him paper and pencil, his message was deferred until too late. But in every watch below I saw the thing.
We soon picked up the trade wind, and under the influence of mild blue skies, racing white clouds, and warm weather, the young niece of the captain recovered her health and spirits. There was color in her cheeks and light in her eyes that bespoke a happy disposition; but she seldom noticed me—in fact, she spoke to the man at the wheel much oftener, and I could only grit my teeth, keep my clothing as neat as possible, and study navigation in my watch below.
As I progressed, I was surprised to find how easy it was, and soon I felt competent, if need arose, to take chronometer sights, lay out a traverse, and keep the log.
As for Fred, he steadily grew worse. Not even the influence of that beautiful little girl could keep him from tapping his secret store; and soon his condition became such as to attract the skipper's attention.
Fred tumbled down the poop stairs one dog-watch, when all hands were on deck, and in going forward to execute some task, zigzagged back and forth.
"Mr. Winters," said the captain to me, "is that young man drunk?"