It was now almost calm, and the sun had mounted in the heavens: the scorching rays were intolerable upon our heads, for we had not the defence of hats.
I felt my brain on fire, and was inclined to drop into the water, to screen myself from the intolerable heat. As the day advanced, so did our sufferings increase. It was a dead calm, the sun perpendicular over us, actually burning that part of our bodies which rose clear of the water. I could have welcomed even a shark to relieve me of my torment; but I thought of Celeste, and I clung to life. Towards the afternoon, I felt sick and dizzy; my resolution failed me; my vision was imperfect; but I was roused by Swinburne, who cried out, “A boat, by all that’s gracious! Hang on a little longer, my men, and you are saved.”
It was a boat full of negroes, who had come out to catch flying fish. They had perceived the spar on the water, and hastened to secure the prize. They dragged us all in, gave us water, which appeared like nectar, and restored us to our fleeting senses. They made fast the boom, and towed it in-shore. We had not been ten minutes on our way, when Swinburne pointed to the fin of a large shark above the water. “Look there, Mr Simple.” I shuddered, and made no answer; but I thanked God in my heart.
In two hours we were landed, but were too ill to walk. We were carried up to the hospital, bled, and put into cots. I had a brain fever which lasted six or seven days, during which O’Brien never left my bedside. My head was shaved, all the skin came off my face like a mask, as well as off my back and shoulders. We were put into baths of brandy and water, and in three weeks were all recovered.
“That was but an unlucky schooner from beginning to end,” observed O’Brien, after I had narrated the events of my cruise. “We had a bad beginning with her, and we had a bad ending. She’s gone to the bottom, and the devil go with her; however, all’s well that ends well, and Peter, you’re worth a dozen dead men yet; but you occasion me a great deal of trouble and anxiety, that’s the truth of it, and I doubt if I shall ever rear you, after all.”
I returned to my duty on board of the brig, which was now nearly ready for sea. One morning O’Brien came on board and said, “Peter, I’ve a piece of news for you. Our gunner is appointed to the Araxes, and the admiral has given me a gunner’s warrant for old Swinburne. Send for him on deck.”
Swinburne was summoned, and came rolling up the hatchway. “Swinburne,” said O’Brien, “you have done your duty well, and you are now gunner of the Rattlesnake. Here is your warrant, and I’ve great pleasure in getting it for you.”
Swinburne turned the quid in his cheek, and then replied, “May I be so bold as to ax, Captain O’Brien, whether I must wear one of them long tog, swallow-tailed coats—because if so, I’d prefer being a quarter-master?”
“A gunner may wear a jacket, Swinburne, if he likes: when you go on shore, you may bend the swallow-tail if you please.”
“Well, sir, then if that’s the case, I’ll take the warrant, because I know it will please the old woman.”