He made for the pale, misty curtain before them, but only tottered a few steps, and then fell heavily upon his face with a groan.
“He’s deal worse than us is,” said Smith, who was now beginning to think more clearly. “Billy, old man, it was that water we drank, and the natives have been pysoning it to kill the fishes, and killed us instead.”
“Eh! What!”
“Native savages been trying to pyson the fishes, and pysoned us instead, matey. I said it afore, Billy Wriggs—I says it again, and I’ll go on saying on it for a week if that’ll do you any good.”
“I’m all right, matey. I’m all right, Tommy. But what do the native savages want to pyson the fishes for? Never did the savages any harm.”
“Billy Wriggs, you’d better get a noo head, mate, and send this one to be cleaned.”
“Ay! You’re right, mate, for this here one won’t go at all. Feels as if some’un had been sifting sea-sand into the works. But what had the fishes done?”
“Nothing. Pyson ’em to float atop, and ketch ’em to eat. Now come and help sooperior officers as have tumbled down all of a heap.”
As he spoke, Smith rose from the ground to which he had fallen, and reeled toward Panton and Drew, slowly, and as if he could only see them dimly at a distance, while Wriggs followed his example, and came on in a zigzag, idiotic way.
Suddenly Smith stood up erect, and uttered a hoarse cry, as he stared wildly at his companions.