I.

As the sun set blood red, a thick white fog crept westward, and the

miserable fever-stricken wretches that lay gasping and dying on

the decks of the transport _Breckenbridge_ knew that another day of

calm--and horror--waited them with the coming of the dawn on the morrow.

Twenty miles away the dark outline of the Australian shore shone out

green and purple with the dying sunshafts, and then quickly dulled again

to the sombre shades of the coming night and the white mantle of fog.

On the starboard side of the high quarterdeck of the transport the

master stood gazing seaward with a worn and troubled face, and as he

viewed the gathering fog a heavy sigh broke from him.

“God help us!” he muttered, “ninety-six dead already, and as many more

likely to die in another week if this calm keeos up.”

A hand was laid on his shoulder, and turning he met the pale face of the

surviving surgeon of the fever-stricken ship.

“Seven more cases, Belton--five prisoners and two marines.”

The master of the _Breckenbridge_ buried his face in his hands and

groaned aloud.

“Can nothing be done, doctor? My God! it is terrible to see people

perishing like this before our eyes when help is so near. Look!

over there, only twenty miles away, is Twofold Bay, where there is a

settlement, but I dare not send a boat ashore. There are not ten sound

men in the ship, and if an easterly wind springs up I could not keep my

ship from going ashore.”

The young surgeon made no answer for awhile. Ever since the

_Breckenbridge_ had left Rio, one or more of the convicts, seamen, or

military guard had died day after day; and he had striven hard since

the outbreak of the fever to stay its deadly progress. The cause he

knew well: the foul, overcrowded 'tween decks, where four hundred human

beings were confined in a space not fit to hold a hundred, the

vile drinking-water and viler provisions, the want of even a simple

disinfectant to clear the horrible, vitiated atmosphere, and the

passage, protracted long beyond even the usual time in those days, had

been the main causes of their present awful condition.

Rodman the Boatsteerer, and Other Stories 1898 · 第 39 / 71 题