“Cannibals?” suggested Rainsford. “Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn’t live in such a God-forsaken place. Butit’s gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn’t you notice that the crew’snerves seemed a bit jumpy today?” “They were a bit strange, now you mention it. Even Captain Nielsen–” “Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who’d go up to the devil himselfand ask him for a light. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never sawthere before. All I could get out of him was `This place has an evilname among seafaring men, sir.’ Then he said to me, very gravely, `Don’tyou feel anything?’–as if the air about us was actually poisonous. Now,you mustn’t laugh when I tell you this–I did feel something like asudden chill. “There was no breeze. The sea was as flat as a plate-glass window. Wewere drawing near the island then. What I felt was a–a mental chill; asort of sudden dread.” “Pure imagination,” said Rainsford. “One superstitious sailor can taint the whole ship’s company with his fear.” “Maybe. But sometimes I think sailors have an extra sense that tellsthem when they are in danger. Sometimes I think evil is a tangiblething–with wave lengths, just as sound and light have. An evil placecan, so to speak, broadcast vibrations of evil. Anyhow, I’m glad we’regetting out of this zone. Well, I think I’ll turn in now, Rainsford.”
“I’m not sleepy,” said Rainsford. “I’m going to smoke another pipe up onthe afterdeck.” “Good night, then, Rainsford. See you at breakfast.” “Right. Good night, Whitney.” There was no sound in the night as Rainsford sat there but the muffledthrob of the engine that drove the yacht swiftly through the darkness,and the swish and ripple of the wash of the propeller. Rainsford, reclining in a steamer chair, indolently puffed on his favorite brier. The sensuous drowsiness of the night was on him.” It’so dark,” he thought, “that I could sleep without closing my eyes; the night would be my eyelids–“