“Pull away,” said the Quartermaster; and she began to move apace. I, keeping my eyes fixed upon the boat we steered for, at length descried a huddled heap on board of her, which was presently discovered to be the forms of two men. We drew alongside, and lay board on board together, gazing upon a dismal, dreadful sight.
For there in the boat were two gaunt and wasted forms—yea, the very death’s heads did grin in the dwindled faces of those poor castaways.
One was an Indian: a tall, well-knit figure dark copper-coloured; his face long and hard-favoured; lank black hair.
The other was an European, and, as it should seem, an Englishman. His yellow beard fell long and untrimmed, and his clothes were mean and old; yet there was that in his look made me think he was a gentleman. What, however, was remarkable: on sight of the castaways, Ouvery gave a great start and drew sharply in his breath.
“They be dead men both,” said a man, solemnly; “rest to their souls!”
But I had got into the boat; and, taking a mirror that I had about me, I held it in turn to those parted and writhen lips, and lo! it twice became clouded with breath.
“They live! they live!” cried I. But Ouvery said quickly:
“Nay, nay! You know nothing at all. Down, ye meddler, and out of the way!” And to the mariners he said:
“Overboard with them! We’ll have no truck with the dead! And keep your tongue quiet,” said he, glaring at me, “or you shall sweep with them!”
“I say that they live!” I returned passionately. “Carry them to the ship!”