Even those that were well were sure that it was only a mater of days when the sickness would catch them and carry them off.

And yet, believing this with absolute conviction, they somehow lacked the nerve to rush the frail wraith of a man with the white skin and escape from the charnel house by the whale-boats.

They chose the lingering death they were sure awaited them, rather than the immediate death they were very sure would pounce upon them if they went up against the master.

That he never slept, they knew.

That he could not be conjured to death, they were equally sure--they had tried it.