not to tell you all about it. . . . Martinez
went first, of course, being weak as water. He died muttering for
water. Grimalson came next . . . two days later.

"But I shall go on telling you about myself. Physically I suffered
very little, mentally a good deal at sight of the others' torments--
but only from time to time. By the fourth day (the eleventh after
the _Eurotas_ went down) we were all more or less mad, I reckon.
But my lunacy took the form of light-headedness with a strange,
almost persistent, sense of exaltation. I kept my strength so much
better than they that almost unconsciously they left most of the
trimming and steering in my hands. And I sat and steered as a god,
in a world blank of all but miserable happenings. I looked on Santa,
and she was the woman I loved but should never enjoy. I looked on
Farrell: and he was _here_, brought here by _me_. What worse woe
could possibly lie in store for him than this agony over which I
presided it was impossible to tell and hard indeed to imagine. But I
did not want him to die. On the contrary, it was for _him_ that I
searched the horizon, that a ship might rescue us and he might live.
I would see to the rest!

"They say that living with an enemy in a confinement such as ours,
makes you hate him worse and worse. . . . It wasn't so with me.
My hate, by this time, was set and annealed, so to speak; quite cold,
and almost judicial. I had no more jealousy than Jove. The air
that, to the others, quivered so damnably, so insufferably around the
boat under a sky without shade, swam around me like incense. . . .
As for Farrell, his eyes watched mine like a dog's.

"Oh, yes, we went through it all! I'll have to tell you about
Grimalson (as shortly as possible, though), because Farrell gets
mixed up in it, hereabouts. Even in their suffering, the three
seamen--Jarvis, Prout, and Webster--had nursed poor Martinez almost
tenderly; and I suppose, amid their mutterings forward, they had
hatched out their form of protest. And it was fit for comic opera--
ghastly comic opera--if you can imagine Lucifer sitting in the
stalls.

"Noon of the third day it was--I count from the time of our losing
the other two boats. We had lowered Martinez overboard about an hour
before, and the seamen should have been preparing our diminutive
ration. (Salt pork boiled in sea-water, if you can imagine it,
Roddy!) I was steering: Santa sat a foot away, staring over the
waters