“He has to clean up after his own feet, he’s so dirty,” sagely proffered Handy Solomon.  And this was true.

The seaman’s prophecy held good.  Seven weeks held us at that infernal job—­seven weeks of solid, grinding work.  The worst of it was, that we were kept at it so breathlessly, as though our very existence were to depend on the headlong rush of our labour.  And then we had fully half the stores to put away again, and the other half to transport painfully over the neck of land from the cove to the beach.

So accustomed had I become to the routine in which we were involved, so habituated to anticipating the coming day as exactly like the day that had gone, that the completion of our job caught me quite by surprise.  I had thrown myself down by the fire prepared for the some old half hour of drowsy nicotine, to be followed by the accustomed heavy sleep, and the usual early rising to toil.  The evening was warm; I half closed my eyes.

Handy Solomon was coming in last.  Instead of dropping to his place, he straddled the fire, stretching his arms over his head.  He let them fall with a sharp exhalation.

 “‘Lay aloft, lay aloft,’ the jolly bos’n cried.
     Blow high, blow low, what care we!
  ‘Look ahead, look astern, look a-windward, look a-lee.’
     Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e.”

The effect was electrical.  We all sprang to our feet and fell to talking at once.

“By God, we’re through!” cried Pulz.  “I’d clean forgot it!”

The Nigger piled on more wood.  We drew closer about the fire.  All the interests in life, so long held in the background, leaped forward, eager for recognition.  We spoke of trivialities almost for the first time since our landing, fused into a temporary but complete good fellowship by the relief.

“Wonder how the old doctor is getting on?” ventured Thrackles, after a while.

“The devil’s a preacher!  I wonder?” cried Handy Solomon.

“Let’s make ’em a call,” suggested Pulz.

“Don’t believe they’d appreciate the compliment,” I laughed.  “Better let them make first call:  they’re the longer established.”  This was lost on them, of course.  But we all felt kindly to one another that evening.

I carried the glow of it with me over until next morning, and was therefore somewhat dashed to meet Captain Selover, with clouded brows and an uncertain manner.  He quite ignored my greeting.

“By God, Eagen,” he squeaked, “can you think of anything more to be done?”

I straightened my back and laughed.

“Haven’t you worked us hard enough?” I inquired.  “Unless you gild the cabins, I don’t see what else there can be to do.”

Captain Selover stared me over.

“And you a naval man!” he marvelled.  “Don’t you see that the only thing that keeps this crew from gettin’ restless is keeping them busy?  I’ve sweat a damn sight more with my brain than you have with your back thinking up things to do.  I can’t see anything ahead, and then we’ll have hell to pay.  Oh, they’re a sweet lot!”