“Good thing for him. He’ll need all of that he can get.”
“Then you think–?”
“Well, between you and me, I don’t believe Win was built for the tropics. This fever of his, coming on so soon, wouldn’t have hit nine men in ten half so hard. He’s bound to have another spell in a month or two, and–”
“But cannot we possibly get away from here before then? Is there no way? Surely, you are so resourceful–”
“Nothing doing, Miss Jenny! Give me tools, and I’d engage to turn out a seagoing boat. But as it is, the only thing I could do would be to fire-burn a log. That would take two or three months, and in the end we’d have a lop-sided canoe that’d live about half a second in one of these tropic squalls.”
“Do not the natives sail in canoes?”
“Maybe they do–and they make fire by rubbing sticks. We don’t.”
“But what can we do?”
“Take our medicine, and wait for a ship to show up.”
“But we have no medicine.”