I didn't. I felt that my last hours in the land of the living should be passed in consciousness, and I spent that terrible time of darkness in more or less prayerful meditation.
After ages, the dawn arrived. I lit another cigar, and wriggled wearily to the bow of the boat and scanned the waters.
There was a vessel! Far, far away, to be sure, but steaming so that we must cross her path in another fifteen minutes.
I tore off my overcoat, scrambled to the little deck, wound one arm about a post, and waved the coat frantically.
Nearer and nearer we came to the steamer. More and more I feared that the signal might be unnoticed, or noticed too late. But it wasn't.
I have known some happy sights in my time, but I never saw anything that filled me with one-half the joy I felt on realizing that the steamer-people were lowering one of their boats.
They were doing it, there was no doubt about the matter. In five minutes we should be near enough to their cutter to swim for it.
I dived to the stern to awaken Hawkins.
He was already awake. He stood there, tousled and happy, sniffing the crisp air, and he had seen the approaching boat.
“Got it ready?” he inquired, placidly.