On board the Wakatipu was a large company of worldly people, representing nearly all professions and stations in life. The majority of the people were extremely sociable, and very soon after we got out into the open water a number of passengers gathered in the cabin with musical instruments, to while away an hour and to banish sadness. They made a great medley of their pleasures; and some of them were decidedly irreverent. A portion of the party wished to dance, and the man who supplied the music claimed to know but one tune. This was:
"Sweeping through the gates of the New Jerusalem,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb."
And to this very strange "schottische" some of them danced a merry-go-round.
Notwithstanding the gaiety on board, the feeling of dread grew upon me. It seemed to possess my very soul. Probably I had given way too much to sadness in gazing upon the distant lights of Sydney, and now I could not banish the evil thoughts which thronged my mind.
All manner of gloomy forebodings oppressed me. While I remained in Sydney, I felt that there was some tie between myself and my companion; but now I felt that I had cut myself adrift even from him.
This was the first time in my life that ever I felt how completely alone a man can be when surrounded by joyous company. I tried to think of comfort and companionship at the end of my voyage; but the reflection proved to be an unfortunate one, because I knew no soul in all New Zealand. Death must actually be something to dread for any person to whom it will bring the appalling loneliness which possessed me at this hour.
I retired to my berth, as you may imagine, in no pleasant frame of mind. The next morning, Friday, I awoke and found myself in a raging fever. I was not sea-sick, and, though I am subject to this trouble, during this entire voyage I felt no touch of it. The fever increased during the day, until it seemed as if my whole body were being consumed in a furnace.
No one came to enquire for me, or to offer aid; for I was not only a total stranger, but a steerage passenger—two things which, united, shut me out from help or sympathy. On Saturday morning I was worse. My tongue was swollen until it filled my mouth; it was as dry as a piece of tinder. With the intense heat of my body my teeth crumbled at a touch.
On Sunday morning I was worse; though probably the fever had not increased in intensity, because it could not; but I was very much weaker. That afternoon a passenger came to the berth, and offered me a glass of water. I took it gratefully; and this was the sole attention I received during four days.
Naturally I felt dispirited. I had not even the advantage of delirium, which accompanies most serious fevers; I was constantly awake to the full appreciation of the torture which my mind and body were enduring. Tempted by the destroyer, I felt that death would have been a welcome release from my pain. The horror was almost unbearable.