“Oh deah! Not drop watee left. You get up dlink allee watee?”
“No; did you?”
“No. Ching see. Pooh Tom Jeck knock over with arm.”
It was only too evident, for the water vessel had been laid upon its side, and the sand beneath was soaked.
“Ching velly solly,” said the Chinaman softly. “No gettee more watee till quite dalk.”
My head sank against the rock, and I hardly stirred the whole of that day. Ching pressed me to eat some of the remaining biscuits, but I could not touch them, only rest my burning head there, and try to think of what was to come. Ching would certainly be caught if he ventured out, for the enemy never all lay down to sleep together; and, what was worse, I felt convinced, though in a confused way, that sooner or later the delirious mutterings and talkings of Tom Jecks must be heard.
I can only remember patches of that day. The rest is all burning heat and wandering away amongst grass and flowers and purling streams, whose trickling I seemed to hear.
It was getting well on in the afternoon, I suppose, that Tom Jecks’ fever came to a height. He muttered, and then began to talk angrily, but in an incoherent way, and his voice grew so loud that at last I roused myself and went up to the look-out, to watch whether it was heard without.
But the Chinamen heard nothing, only sat or lay about, talking or sleeping. It was getting close upon evening, for the sunshine was warm and golden, and cast long shadows from the rocks and the cliff above us over the level sand.
How beautiful it all looked! that golden sea, with a distant sail here and there. And now suddenly I found that there was a great deal of excitement amongst the Chinamen, who were talking loudly.