sts and arms are
frightfully afflicted. Now one, and now another, and sometimes several,
either from being knocked down by seas or from general miserableness,
take to the bunk for a day or so off. This means more work for the
others, so that the men on their feet are not tolerant of the sick ones,
and a man must be very sick to escape being dragged out to work by his
mates.

I cannot but marvel at Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs. Old and fragile as
they are, it seems impossible that they can endure what they do. For
that matter, I cannot understand why they work at all. I cannot
understand why any of them toil on and obey an order in this freezing
hell of the Horn. Is it because of fear of death that they do not cease
work and bring death to all of us? Or is it because they are
slave-beasts, with a slave-psychology, so used all their lives to being
driven by their masters that it is beyond their mental power to refuse to
obey?

And yet most of them, in a week after we reach Seattle, will be on board
other ships outward bound for the Horn. Margaret says the reason for
this is that sailors forget. Mr. Pike agrees. He says give them a week
in the south-east trades as we run up the Pacific and they will have
forgotten that they have ever been around the Horn. I wonder. Can they
be as stupid as this? Does pain leave no record with them? Do they fear
only the immediate thing? Have they no horizons wider than a day? Then
indeed do they belong where they are.

They _are_ cowardly. This was shown conclusively this morning at two
o'clock. Never have I witnessed such panic fear, and it was fear of the
immediate thing--fear, stupid and beast-like. It was Mr. Mellaire's
watch. As luck would have it, I was reading Boas's _Mind of Primitive
Man_ when I heard the rush of feet over my head. The _Elsinore_ was hove
to on the port tack at the time, under very short canvas. I was
wondering what emergency had brought the watch upon the poop, when I
heard another rush of feet that meant the second watch. I heard no
pulling and hauling, and the thought of mutiny flashed across my mind.

Still nothing happened, and, growing curious, I got into my sea-boots,
sheepskin coat, and oilskin, put on my sou'wester and mittens, and went
on deck. Mr. Pike had already dressed and was ahead of me. Captain
West, who in this bad weather sleeps in the chart-room, stood in the lee
doorway of the house, through which the lamplight str