Were he not so terrible a man, I could sometimes feel sorry for him, as instance three mornings ago, when I went into his stateroom to fill his water-bottle and came unexpectedly upon him.

He did not see me.

His head was buried in his hands, and his shoulders were heaving convulsively as with sobs.

He seemed torn by some mighty grief.

As I softly withdrew I could hear him groaning, "God! God! God!" Not that he was calling upon God; it was a mere expletive, but it came from his soul.
At dinner he asked the hunters for a remedy for headache, and by evening, strong man that he was, he was half-blind and reeling about the cabin.
"I've never been sick in my life, Hump," he said, as I guided him to his room.