Bertie read between the lines and knew better. He read
how the _Arla's_ whale-boat had been bushwacked at Sulu and had lost
three men; of how the skipper discovered the cook stewing human flesh
on the galley fire--flesh purchased by the boat's crew ashore in Fui;
of how an accidental discharge of dynamite, while signalling, had
killed another boat's crew; of night attacks; ports fled from between
the dawns; attacks by bushmen in mangrove swamps and by fleets of
salt-water men in the larger passages. One item that occurred with
monotonous frequency was death by dysentery. He noticed with alarm
that two white men had so died--guests, like himself on the _Arla_.
"I say, you know," Bertie said next day to Captain Hansen. "I've been
glancing through your log."
The skipper displayed quick vexation that the log had been left lying
about.
"And all that dysentery, you know, that's all rot, just like the
accidental drownings," Bertie continued. "What does dysentery really
stand for?"
The skipper openly admired his guest's acumen, stiffened himself to
make indignant denial, then gracefully surrendered.
"You see, it's like this, Mr. Arkwright.
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