"And she crawled on, do or die, in the serene weather. The sky was a
miracle of purity, a miracle of azure. The sea was polished, was blue,
was pellucid, was sparkling like a precious stone, extending on all
sides, all round to the horizon--as if the whole terrestrial globe had
been one jewel, one colossal sapphire, a single gem fashioned into a
planet. And on the luster of the great calm waters the _Judea_ glided
imperceptibly, enveloped in languid and unclean vapours, in a lazy cloud
that drifted to leeward, light and slow: a pestiferous cloud defiling
the splendour of sea and sky.
"All this time of course we saw no fire. The cargo smoldered at the
bottom somewhere. Once Mahon, as we were working side by side, said to
me with a queer smile: 'Now, if she only would spring a tidy leak--like
that time when we first left the Channel--it would put a stopper on this
fire. Wouldn't it?' I remarked irrelevantly, 'Do you remember the rats?'
"We fought the fire and sailed the ship too as carefully as though
nothing had been the matter. The steward cooked and attended on us. Of
the other twelve men, eight worked while four rested. Everyone took
his turn, captain included. There was equality, and if not exactly
fraternity, then a deal of good feeling. Sometimes a man, as he dashed
a bucketful of water down the hatchway, would yell out, 'Hurrah for
Bankok!' and the rest laughed. But generally we were taciturn and
serious--and thirsty.
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