“Yes, sir; I was so bad I didn’t know which I dreamed and which was real, only it seemed that there was a lot of fighting and shooting and yelling.”
“You didn’t dream that,” said Mark sadly.
“I’m glad of that, sir; but I suppose I dreamed that the Malay chaps made the sailors go over the side into one of the boats and row away.”
“That must be quite true,” said the major gravely.
“But I was very much off my head, sir, and so weak and thirsty. I know I didn’t dream about the fire though, for the ship was afire.”
“Yes,” said Mark; “the poor Petrel!”
“It was very horrid, gentlemen; for as I lay there I couldn’t speak nor move, only look up at the glare and blaze and sparks, and from where I lay, afraid to stir in case they should chuck me overboard, I saw those savage chaps go over the side and leave the ship; and then there was a blow-up, or else it was before—I don’t know, for I was all in a muddle in my head and didn’t know anything, only that it was getting hotter and hotter; and at last I was in a sort of dream, feeling as if I was going to be roasted.”
“How horrible!” cried Mark.
“Yes, sir, it was horrid, for the masts ketched fire and burned right up, and the great pieces of wood kept falling on the deck, and ropes were all alight—and swinging about with the burning tar. I didn’t dream all that, for I see the big mast blazing from top to bottom, and it fell over the side; and then the others went, and the spars was on fire, and the booms at the sides. And at last, as the fire came nearer and nearer, sir, I knew that if I lay there any longer I should be burned to death, and I thought I’d move.”
“And very wisely,” said the major.