Darrow’s “devil fires” were again painting the sky.  I had noticed them from time to time, always with increasing wonder.  The men accepted them easily as only one of the unexplained phenomena of a sailor’s experience, but I had not as yet hit on a hypothesis that suited me.  They were not allied to the aurora; they differed radically from the ordinary volcanic emanations; and scarcely resembled any electrical displays I had ever seen.  The night was cool; the stars bright:  I resolved to investigate.

Without further delay I arose to my feet and set off into the darkness.  Immediately one of the group detached himself from the fire and joined me.

“Going for a little walk, sir?” asked Handy Solomon sweetly.  “That’s quite right and proper.  Nothin’ like a little walk to get you fit and right for your bunk.”

He held close to my elbow.  We got just as far as the stockade in the bed of the arroyo.  The lights we could make out now across the zenith; but owing to the precipitance of the cliffs, and the rise of the arroyo bed, it was impossible to see more.  Handy Solomon felt the defences carefully.

“A man would think, sir, it was a cannibal island,” he observed.  “All so tight and tidy-like here.  It would take a ship’s guns to batter her down.  A man might dig under these here two gate logs, if no one was against him.  Like to try it, sir?”

“No,” I answered gruffly.

From that time on I was virtually a prisoner; yet so carefully was my surveillance accomplished that I could place my finger on nothing definite.  Someone always accompanied me on my walks; and in the evening I was herded as closely as any cattle.

Handy Solomon took the direction of affairs off my hands.  You may be sure he set no very heavy tasks.  The men cut a little wood, carried up a few pails of water—­that was all.

Lacking incentive to stir about, they came to spend most of their time lying on their backs watching the sky.  This in turn bred a languor which is the sickest, most soul- and temper-destroying affair invented by the devil.  They could not muster up energy enough to walk down the beach and back, and yet they were wearied to death of the inaction.  After a little they became irritable toward one another.  Each suspected the other of doing less than he should.  You who know men will realise what this meant.

The atmosphere of our camp became surly.  I recognised the precursor of its becoming dangerous.  One day on a walk in the hills I came on Thrackles and Pulz lying on their stomachs gazing down fixedly at Dr. Schermerhorn’s camp.  This was nothing extraordinary, but they started guiltily to their feet when they saw me, and made off, growling under their breaths.

All this that I have told you so briefly, took time.  It was the eating through of men’s spirits by that worst of corrosives, idleness.  I conceive it unnecessary to weary you with the details——­