THERE WAS HEAVY RAIN overnight, but we had suffered worse days, and it cleared a little in the brightness of the day. More birds were spotted overhead and we tried hard to catch one, but they were not as ignorant as the one the previous day and neither landed in our tub nor flew so close overhead that we could catch one by hand. We were not made despondent by this, however, for the general agreement was that the increase in the number of birds meant that we were reaching closer to land.
The only drama of note came when John Samuel passed out in a faint, like a molly would on a hot day on the streets of London. He was quickly revived when we threw sea water on his face, he taking care to keep his lips locked so that he would swallow none of it, and it was generally agreed that he was a nance for the trauma, particularly considering how well we had eaten the day before and how positive our spirits were. He sought sympathy for a matter of an hour or so, it was declined on all quarters, and he retired to a corner of the tub to nurse his pride.
I found myself a victim of self-pity, however, a little later in the afternoon when I ran a hand across my head to cure an itch and flowery flakes of I-knew-not-what appeared to descend from my hair and phizzy to the deck. I stared at them, wondering whether my skin was falling off me, touched my head once more and the powdery rain continued. I kept my own counsel on it for some time, afeared that I had caught some virulent pestilence that would see me thrown overboard before it could spread, but finally, so terrified that I might be about to die, I consulted Surgeon Ledward on the matter.
He took a look and shook his head contemptuously. ‘You have the scurvy, that is all,’ he said. ‘Most every man on board has it. There’s a lack of iron and protein in our diets, lad, that causes it.’
‘It’s the lack of a diet in our diet,’ I suggested.
‘Quiet, lad, you ate yesterday,’ he replied sharply, and I considered taking him to task for it, for he was not my master; that was the captain.
‘I’ll live, then?’ I asked.
‘Of course you’ll live,’ he said. ‘Assuming we all live. Now get back to your place, Turnip. You have a stench off you that would send a cat a-scampering.’
I went back to my seat with a sigh, taking a sniff at myself for good measure, and sure enough I was not a clean lad by any means, but I don’t think any of us were. I took a look around me and all I could see was skin-and-bone men, their faces covered in rough beards, their eyes hollow and dark, some searching the horizon for signs of life, some watching the skies for birds, some rowing, some sleeping, some lost in thought, some with blank faces.