Jim had learned enough from the conversation in the cabin to keep him
awake until midnight. It was near morning when he dropped off into
slumber, which was not broken until the forenoon of the succeeding day was
half gone.
When he went on deck, he saw that the schooner was far below the city, and
standing straight toward the ocean. The weather was again cold, so he kept
within the cabin most of the time.
That night the negro Sam complained of feeling unwell, and threw his
massive form into his hammock, in the hope of becoming better after a
short rest. His sickness was not of a serious nature; but when such a big
man falls ill there is a great deal of it, and the African instantly
formed the belief that he was going to die, certain sure.
He groaned, and cried, until Jim himself became frightened, and went on
deck to ask the others to look after him. They replied that there was
nothing the matter with Sam, and that he would soon come around all right.
Jim did his best to relieve the negro, giving him the few simple remedies
at hand, in the hope that he would drop off to sleep. Sure enough, in the
course of half an hour Sam did fall asleep, and when he awoke, an hour
later, was well; and, fully appreciating Jim's kind attentions, said to
him, leaning on his enormous elbow in the hammock,--
"Tell you what, sonny, yous been mighty kind to me, and _I'll remember
you_, dat's what I'll do.
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