l buffeting by the Great West Wind. Nor are we alone in our
travail on this desolate ocean. Never a day does the gray thin, or the
snow-squalls cease that we do not sight ships, west-bound like ourselves,
hove-to and trying to hold on to the meagre westing they possess. And
occasionally, when the gray clears and lifts, we see a lucky ship, bound
east, running before it and reeling off the miles. I saw Mr. Pike,
yesterday, shaking his fist in a fury of hatred at one such craft that
flew insolently past us not a quarter of a mile away.

And the men are jumping. Mr. Pike is driving with those block-square
fists of his, as many a man's face attests. So weak are they, and so
terrible is he, that I swear he could whip either watch single-handed. I
cannot help but note that Mr. Mellaire refuses to take part in this
driving. Yet I know that he is a trained driver, and that he was not
averse to driving at the outset of the voyage. But now he seems bent on
keeping on good terms with the crew. I should like to know what Mr. Pike
thinks of it, for he cannot possibly be blind to what is going on; but I
am too well aware of what would happen if I raised the question. He
would insult me, snap my head off, and indulge in a three-days'
sea-grouch. Things are sad and monotonous enough for Margaret and me in
the cabin and at table, without invoking the blight of the mate's
displeasure.

CHAPTER XL

Another brutal sea-superstition vindicated. From now on and for always
these imbeciles of ours will believe that Finns are Jonahs. We are west
of the Diego de Ramirez Rocks, and we are running west at a twelve-knot
clip with an easterly gale at our backs. And the carpenter is gone. His
passing, and the coming of the easterly wind, were coincidental.

It was yesterday morning, as he helped me to dress, that I was struck by
the solemnity of Wada's face. He shook his head lugubriously as he broke
the news. The carpenter was missing. The ship had been searched for him
high and low. There just was no carpenter.

"What does the steward think?" I asked. "What does Louis think?--and
Yatsuda?"

"The sailors, they kill 'm carpenter sure," was the answer. "Very bad
ship this. Very bad hearts. Just the same pig, just the same dog. All
the time kill. All the time kill. Bime-by everybody kill. You see."

The old steward, at work in his pantry, grinned at me when I mentioned
the matter.

"They make fool with me, I