It is a way we
have of making up our minds to do things; and a very good way it is
when one has no temperamental tears to shed over the last tin-of
condensed milk when it has capsized. (We are living on tinned goods
these days, and since mind is rumoured to be an emanation of matter,
our similes are naturally of the packing-house variety.)
"You'd better bring your revolvers along, and a couple of rifles,"
said Captain Jansen. "I've got five rifles aboard, though the one
Mauser is without ammunition. Have you a few rounds to spare?"
We brought our rifles on board, several handfuls of Mauser
cartridges, and Wada and Nakata, the Snark's cook and cabin-boy
respectively. Wada and Nakata were in a bit of a funk. To say the
least, they were not enthusiastic, though never did Nakata show the
white feather in the face of danger. The Solomon Islands had not
dealt kindly with them. In the first place, both had suffered from
Solomon sores. So had the rest of us (at the time, I was nursing
two fresh ones on a diet of corrosive sublimate); but the two
Japanese had had more than their share. And the sores are not nice.
They may be described as excessively active ulcers. A mosquito
bite, a cut, or the slightest abrasion, serves for lodgment of the
poison with which the air seems to be filled.
