“Oh, he's dead and gone this many a year,” said Halkett. “When the 'Rodney' transport was wrecked there, two years last fall, they searched the island from end to end, and could n't find a trace of him. They were seven weeks there, and it's pretty clear if he were alive—”
“Ay, just so,—if he were alive!”
“Nonsense, man! You don't believe those yarns they get up to frighten the boys in the cook's galley?”
“It's scarce mercy, to my reckoning,” said Felborg, “to take the lad from a quick and short fate, and leave him yonder; but if you need my help, you shall have it.”
“That's enough,” said Halkett; “go on deck, and look after the boat. None of our fellows will betray us; and in the morning we 'll tell Sir Dudley that he threw himself overboard in the night, in a fit of frenzy. He'll care little whether it's true or false.”
“I say, Con—Con, my lad,” said Halkett, as soon as the other had mounted the ladder. “Wake up, my boy; I've something to tell you.”
“I know it,” said I, wishing to spare time, which I thought might be precious; “I've been dreaming all about it.”
“Poor fellow, his mind is wandering,” muttered Halkett to himself. “Come, my lad, try and put on your clothes,—here's your jacket;” and with that he lifted me from my hammock, and began to help me to dress.
“I was dreaming, Halkett,” said I, “that Sir Dudley sent me adrift in the punt, and fired at me with the swivel, but that you rowed out and saved me.”
“That's just it!” said Halkett, with an energy that showed how the supposed dream imposed upon him.