Chapter Thirty Nine.
“Never say die!”
As long as the excitement kept up, Fitz paced the deck with Poole, but for two or three nights past regular sleep and his eyelids had been at odds. The consequence was that all at once in the silence and darkness, when there was nothing to take his attention, he became very silent, walking up and down the deck mechanically with his companion to keep himself awake, and a short time afterwards for no reason at all that he was aware of, but because one leg went before the other automatically, his will having ceased to convey its desires to these his supporters, and long after Poole had ceased talking to him, he suddenly gave a violent lurch, driving Poole, who was in a similar condition, sideways, and if it had not been for the bulwark close at hand they would both have gone down like skittles. For they were both fast asleep, sound as a top, fast as a church, but on the instant wide-awake and angry.
“What did you do that for?” cried Fitz fiercely. “I didn’t,” cried Poole angrily. “You threw yourself at me.”
“That I didn’t! How could I?”
“How should I know? But you’ve made a great bruise on my elbow; I know that.”
“Quiet! quiet!” said the mate, in a deep low growl. “Do you want to bring the gunboat down on us, shouting like that?” And he seemed to loom up upon them out of the darkness.
“Well, but he—” began Fitz.
“Quiet, I tell you! I have been watching you lads these last ten minutes. You’ve both been rolling about all over the deck, and I expected to see you go down on your noses every moment. Snoring too, one of you was.”
“Well, that wasn’t I, I’m sure,” cried Fitz shortly.