“What have I done?” he asked, staring wildly at the hot sun above him.
“Nothing!” answered George. “Only try to hold on to the boat. For I’m so worn out that it’s all I can do to keep myself up.”
Watson clawed frantically at the gunwale. At last he managed to grasp it with his tired, bony fingers.
“I can’t hold on much longer!” suddenly said George, in a faint voice. His hands were numb; he felt as if he had not one particle of strength left in his emaciated body. His mind began to wander. He forgot that he was in the Gulf of Mexico; he thought he was holding on to a horse. By and by the horse began to move. Could he keep his grasp on the animal? No; not much longer. The horse started to canter, and the boy felt himself slipping backward. In reality he had let go his hold upon the boat. So, too, had Watson. The next moment was a blank. The sun came burning down on poor Waggie, perched on top of the craft, as he growled piteously at the sight of master and friend drifting helplessly away.
When George recovered his senses he was lying on the deck of one of the war-vessels, and Waggie was barking in an effort to awaken him. Near him sat Watson, with a happy smile on his wan face. Around him was a group of officers.
“By Jove,” one of the latter was saying. “Those poor fellows had a narrow escape. It was well we saw their plight and sent a boat after them. It got there just in time.”
“Well, my boys,” asked an older officer (who was evidently the captain of the vessel), in a gruff but not unkindly tone, “what on earth are you, and where did you come from? You don’t appear to have been gorging yourselves lately.”
When George and Watson were a little stronger they told the story of their adventures, in brief but graphic terms, to the interested group of officers. When they had finished the Captain came up to them, and put a hand upon the shoulder of each.
“You fellows want a good round meal!” he said emphatically. “And after that some clothes will not come amiss, I guess.”