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But one of the witchcraft-like mysteries of the sea has to do with sick men such as Paullen, who very often, for not much of any reason at all, will turn up their toes and waste away unless a land breeze freshens their faces. They grow wistfully indifferent, for Death is a kindly old hag in some ways, and often she makes the sick man like a hungry child, eager to be snuggled to even her empty dugs.

True, there were Paullen's ribs; but these knitted away as young bones do. He had the land-fever, and his sense of disgrace worked on his spirits, so that much of the time he was out of his head and talked of home.

In order that Paullen might as soon as possible be detached from any connection with piracy, Williams from the first day at sea had intended to put him ashore at Pulotu; but, after the boy became ill, McGuire was given to understand that he, too, would be put ashore.

Williams as much as said: "You got him into this. You go on shore and see that he gets out of it, too. Stay by him. A boy such as he would waste his life by settling down on an island like Pulotu, so you see that he keeps clear of that sort of thing!"