Then he went on, 'But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You keep steering the ship.' He gave me a warning look, put his finger on his lip, and went below. A difficult wind had suddenly come up, and I could not leave the helm.

I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and lantern. Then he went down to the hold. He is mad, completely mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big boxes. They are listed as having clay inside, and to pull them about is the most harmless thing he can do. So here I stay, steer the ship, and write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind as it is, I shall cut down the sails, wait, and signal for help.

It is nearly all over now. I was beginning to hope that the mate would come out calmer. I heard him knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good for him. Instead there came up from below a sudden, startled scream. It made my blood run cold. Up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and his face twisted with fear.