Again the voice of our friend broke the stillness, this time in a stately song that none of us had ever heard before, “O rest in the Lord!” From thenceforward he sang almost continually, even when his lips grew parched with drought, although each of us tendered him some of our scanty measure of water so that he might still cheer us. Insensibly we leant upon him as the time dragged on, for we felt that he was a very tower of strength to us. Five days and nights crept away without any sign of change. Patience had become a habit with us, and the scanty allowance of food and drink had so reduced our vitality that we scarcely felt any pain. Indeed the first two days were the worst. And now the doles became crumbs and drops, yet still no anger, or peevishness even, showed itself. We could still smile sanely and look upon each other kindly. Then a heavy downpour of rain filled our water-breaker for us, giving us in the meantime some copious draughts, which, although they were exquisitely refreshing at the time, racked us with excruciating pains afterwards. The last crumb went, and did not worry us by its going, for we had arrived by easy stages at a physical and mental condition of acquiescence in the steady approach of death that almost amounted to indifference. With a strange exception; hearing and sight were most acute, and thought was busy about a multitude of things, some of them the pettiest and most trivial that could be imagined, and others of the most tremendous import. Speech was difficult, impossible to some, but on the whole we must have felt somewhat akin to the Hindu devotees who withdraw themselves from mankind and endeavour to reduce the gross hamperings of the flesh until they can enter into the conception of the unseen verities that are about us on every side. What the mental wrestlings of the others may have been they only knew; but to outward seeming we had all been gently gliding down into peace.
The end drew near. Nothing occurred to stay its approach. No bird or fish came near enough to be caught until we were all past making an effort had one been needed. We had lost count of time, so that I cannot say how long our solitude had lasted, when one brilliant night as I lay in a state of semi-consciousness, looking up into the glittering dome above, I felt a hand touch me. Slowly I turned my head, and saw the face of the negro-harpooner, who lay by my side. I dragged my heavy head close to his and heard him whisper, “I’m a goin’ an I’m glad. What he said wuz true. It’s as easy as goin’ ter sleep. So long.” And he went. What passed thereafter I do not know, for as peacefully as a tired man settles himself down into the cosy embrace of a comfortable bed, heaving a sigh of utter content as the embracing rest relaxes the tension of muscles and brain, I too slipped down into dreamless slumber.
I awoke in bitter pain, gnawing aches that left no inch of my body unwrung. And my first taste of life’s return gave me a fierce feeling of resentment that it would all have to be gone through again. I felt no gratitude for life spared. That very night of my last consciousness the whaler that rescued us must have been within a few miles, for when we were sighted from her crow’s-nest at daybreak we were so near that they could distinguish the bodies without glasses. There were only three of us still alive, the fortunate ones who had gone to their rest being Mr. Neville, the harpooner, and the Swede. The rescuers said that except for the emaciated condition of our bodies we all looked like sleepers. There were no signs of pain or struggle. It was nearly two months before we who had thus been brought back to a life of care and toil were able to resume it, owing to our long cramped position as much as to our lack of strength. I believe, too, that we were very slow in regaining that natural will-to-live which is part of the animal equipment, and so necessary to keep off the constant advances of death. And, like me, my companions both felt that they could not be grateful for being dragged back to life again.
BENEATH THE SURFACE
While the whaler to which I belonged was lying at Honolulu I one day went ashore for a long ramble out of sight and hearing of the numerous questionable amusements of the town, and late in the afternoon found myself several miles to the southward of it. Emerging from the tangled pathway through which I had been struggling with the luxuriant greenery, I struck the sand of a lovely little bight that commanded an uninterrupted view to seaward. Less than a mile out a reef of black rocks occasionally bared their ugly fangs for a brief space amidst the sleek waters, until the sleepily advancing swell, finding its progress thus hindered, rose high over their grim summits in a league-long fleece of dazzling foam, whose spray glittered like jewels in the diagonal rays of the declining sun.
Upon a little knoll left by the receding tide sat a man staring stolidly out to sea. As I drew near, my approach making no noise upon the yielding sand, I saw that he was white. By his rig—a shirt and trousers, big grass hat, and bare feet—I took him for a beach-comber. These characters are not often desirable companions—human weeds cast ashore in such places, and getting a precarious living in dark and devious ways without work. But I felt inclined for company and a rest after my long tramp, so I made for him direct. He raised his head at my nearing him, showing a grizzled beard framing a weather-beaten face as of a man some sixty years old. There was a peculiar, boiled look about his face, too, as if he had once been drowned, by no means pleasant to see.
He gave me “Good evening!” cheerfully enough as I sat down beside him and offered my plug of tobacco. Cutting himself a liberal quid, he returned it with the query, “B’long ter wun er the spouters, I persoom?” “Yes,” I replied; “boat-header in the Cachalot.” “Ah,” he replied instantly, “but yew’re no Yank, neow, air ye?” “No, I’m a Cockney—little as you may think that likely,” said I; “but it’s a fact.” “Wall, I don’no,” he drawled, “I’ve a-met Cockneys good’s I want ter know; ’n’ why not?”