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“Before we reached the Bay of Biscay every man forward, including the carpenter, sailmaker, and steward, had been bitten, either by a mad rat or a mad shipmate, and was more or less along on the way to convulsions and death. The decks, rails, and rigging, the tops, crosstrees, and yards, swarmed with rats darting along aimlessly biting each other, and going on, frothing at their little mouths, and squeaking in pain. By this time all thought of handling the ship was gone from us. The mate and I took turns at steering, and keeping our eyes open for a sail. But a curious thing about that passage is that from the time we dropped the Farallones, off ‘Frisco, we did not speak a single craft in all that long four months of sailing. Once in a while a steamer’s smoke would show up on the horizon, and again a speck that might be a sail would heave in sight for an hour or so; but nothing came near us.

“The mate and I began to quarrel. We had heeled ourselves with pistols against a possible assault of some frenzied sailor, but there was strong chance that we might use these playthings on each other. I upbraided the mate for not putting in to St.-Louis, and he got back at me for advising him against putting in to Montevideo. It was not an even argument, for the first sailor had not been bitten at the time I advised him. But it resulted in bad feeling between us. We kept our tempers, however, and kept the maddened men away from us until they died, one by one; then, with the wheel in beckets, and the ship steering herself before the wind, we hove the bodies overboard. There was no funeral service now; we had become savages.

“‘Well,’ said the mate, as the last body floated astern, ‘that’s done. Take your wheel. I’m going to sleep.’

“‘Look out,’ I said, grimly, ‘that it’s not your last.’

“‘What do you mean?’ he asked, eying me in an ugly way. ‘Do you strike sleeping men?’

“‘No; but rats bite sleeping men,’ I answered. ‘And understand, Mr. Barnes, I’d rather you’d live than die, so that I may live myself. With both alive and one awake a passing ship could be seen and signaled. With one dead and the other asleep, a ship might pass by. I shall keep a lookout.’

“‘Oh, that’s all, is it? Well, if that’s all, keep your lookout.’ His ugly disposition still held him. He went down, and I steered, keeping a sharp lookout around; for I knew that up in the bay there were sure chances of something coming along. But nothing appeared, and before an hour had passed, Mr. Barnes was up, sucking his wrist, and looking wildly at me.

“‘My God, Draper,’ he said, ‘I’ve got it! I killed the rat, but he’s killed me.’

“‘Well, Mr. Barnes,’ I said, as he strode up to me, ‘I’m sorry for you; but what do you want?–what I would want in your place?–a bullet through the head?’

“‘No, no.’ He sucked madly at his wrist, where showed the four little red spots.

“‘Well, I’ll tell you, Barnes. You’ve shown antagonism to me, and you’re likely to carry it into your delirium when it comes. I’ll not shoot you until you menace me; then, unless I am too far gone myself, I’ll shoot you dead, not only in self-defense, but as an act of mercy.’

“‘And you?’ he rejoined. ‘You–you–you are to live and get command of the ship?’

“‘No,’ I answered, hotly. ‘I can’t get command. I’m not certificated. I want my life, that’s all.’

“He left me without another word, and stamped forward. Rats ran up his clothing, reaching for his throat, but he brushed them off and went on, around the forward house, and then aft to me.

“‘Draper,’ he said, in a choked voice, ‘I’ve got to die. I know it. I know it as none of the men knew it. And it means more to me.’