the cook, hailing
from forward, I think." He hardly believed his own words or recognised
his own voice. It was a long time before the man next to him gave a
sign of life. He punched hard his other neighbour and said:--"The cook's
shouting!" Many did not understand, others did not care; the majority
further aft did not believe. But the boatswain and another man had the
pluck to crawl away forward to see. They seemed to have been gone for
hours, and were very soon forgotten. Then suddenly men who had been
plunged in a hopeless resignation became as if possessed with a desire
to hurt. They belaboured one another with fists. In the darkness they
struck persistently anything soft they could feel near, and, with a
greater effort than for a shout, whispered excitedly:--"They've got some
hot coffee.... Boss'en got it...." "No!... Where?".... "It's coming!
Cook made it." James Wait moaned. Donkin scrambled viciously, caring not
where he kicked, and anxious that the officers should have none of it.
It came in a pot, and they drank in turns. It was hot, and while it
blistered the greedy palates, it seemed incredible. The men sighed out
parting with the mug:--"How 'as he done it?" Some cried weakly:--"Bully
for you, doctor!"

He had done it somehow. Afterwards Archie declared that the thing
was "meeraculous." For many days we wondered, and it was the one
ever-interesting subject of conversation to the end of the voyage.
We asked the cook, in fine weather, how he felt when he saw his stove
"reared up on end." We inquired, in the north-east trade and on serene
evenings, whether he had to stand on his head to put things right
somewhat. We suggested he had used his bread-board for a raft, and from
there comfortably had stoked his grate; and we did our best to conceal
our admiration under the wit of fine irony. He affirmed not to know
anything about it, rebuked our levity, declared himself, with solemn
animation, to have been the object of a special mercy for the saving of
our unholy lives. Fundamentally he was right, no doubt; but he need not
have been so offensively positive about it--he need not have hinted
so often that it would have gone hard with us had he not been there,
meritorious and pure, to receive the inspiration and the strength for
the work of grace. Had we been saved by his recklessness or his agility,
we could have at length become reconciled to the fact; but to admit our
obligation to anybody's virtue and holiness alo