Drew shook his head, and after the mate and Panton had been carried some little distance from where the earth had split open and re-closed, the party seated themselves in a despondent state to watch the golden cloud which hung high in air, like a huge ball of liquid fire, and lit up the place while they waited for morn.
Panton and Mr Rimmer both seemed to be sleeping heavily, and one of the sailors remained similarly affected, but their state did not appear now to be so alarming after the past experience, and Drew contented himself with satisfying himself from time to time that they were breathing comfortably, while he waited and thought sadly about their young companion.
“If I could only feel satisfied that we had done everything possible to save him,” he said to himself, for his conscience reproached him for idling there when he might have perhaps schemed some way of dragging him out from the mist.
Just about the time when his spirits were at the lowest ebb he became conscious of the fact that the two sailors, Smith and Wriggs, were engaged in an argument with one of the rescue party, and he listened to what was said.
“Look-ye here,” growled Smith, “what’s the good o’ you talking that way? You see how it was; yer couldn’t hardly breathe, and what yer could breathe warn’t fresh hair, but a rum sort o’ stuff as comes out o’ the earth and knocks yer over ’fore you knows where you are. I never felt nowt like it, did you, Billy?”
“No; and never wants to smell it again. Yer didn’t feel it, yer smelt it, lads, and then you was nowheres. Say, Tommy.”
“What is it?”
“Wonder what it’s like down below, inside like. You hauled me out ’fore I’d half a chance to find out.”
“Why didn’t yer say yer wanted to see? Then I’d ha’ let yer go.”
“Nay, you wouldn’t, Tommy,” said Wriggs, with a chuckle. “Be too warm, wouldn’t it?”