He spoke of a
landing on an island and explorations in its woods, where the crew killed
three men whom they found asleep under the pines. Their ghosts, Charlie said,
followed the galley, swimming and choking in the water, and the crew cast lots
and threw one of their number overboard as a sacrifice to the strange gods
whom they had offended. Then they ate sea-weed when their provisions failed,
and their legs swelled, and their leader, the red-haired man, killed two
rowers who mutinied, and after a year spent among the woods they set sail for
their own country, and a wind that never failed carried them back so safely
that they all slept at night. This and much more Charlie told. Sometimes the
voice fell so low that I could not catch the words, though every nerve was on
the strain. He spoke of their leader, the red-haired man, as a pagan speaks of
his God; for it was he who cheered them and slew them impartially as he
thought best for their needs; and it was he who steered them for three days
among floating ice, each floe crowded with strange beasts that "tried to sail
with us," said Charlie, "and we beat them back with the handles of the oars."
The gas-jet went out, a burned coal gave way, and the fire settled down with a
tiny crash to the bottom of the grate.
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