“What’s the matter, master?” said I.
He gave me no answer, but lay groaning and occasionally cursing. After a time, he was still, and then I went out again. The tornado was now over, and the stars were to be seen here and there, but still the wind was strong and the wild clouds flew fast. The shores of the island were one mass of foam, which was dashed high in the air and fell upon the black rocks. I looked for the vessel, and could see nothing—the day was evidently dawning, and I sat down and waited its coming. My companion was apparently asleep, for he lay without motion or noise. That some misfortune had happened, I was convinced, but what I knew not, and I passed a long time in conjecture, dividing my thoughts between him and the vessel. At last the daylight appeared—the weather was moderating fast, although the waves still beat furiously against the rocky shore. I could see nothing of the vessel, and I descended the path, now slippery and insecure from the heavy fall of rain, and went as near to the edge of the rocks as the breaking billows would permit. I walked along, occasionally drenched by the spray, until I arrived where I had last seen the vessel. The waves were dashing and tossing about, as if in sport, fragments of timber, casks, and spars; but that was all I could see, except a mast and rigging, which lay alongside of the rocks, sometimes appearing above them on the summit of the waves, then descending far out of my sight, for I dared not venture near enough to the edge to look over. “Then the vessel is dashed to pieces, as my companion said,” thought I. “I wonder how she was made.” I remained about an hour on the rocks, and then turned back to the cabin. I found my companion awake, and groaning heavily.
“There is no ship,” said I, “nothing but pieces of wood floating about.”
“I know that,” replied he; “but what do I care now?”
“I thought by your making a smoke, that you did care.”
“Yes, I did then, but now I am blind, I shall never see a ship or anything else again. God help me! I shall die and rot on this cursed island.”
“Blind, what is blind?” inquired I.
“The lightning has burned out my eyes, and I can see nothing—I cannot help myself—I cannot walk about—cannot do anything, and I suppose you will leave me here to die like a dog.”
“Can’t you see me?”
“No, all is dark, dark as night, and will be as long as I live.” And he turned on his bed-place and groaned. “I had hope, I lived in hope—it has kept me alive for many weary years, but now hope is gone, and I care not if I die to-morrow.” And then he started up and turned his face towards me, and I saw that there was no light in his eyes.