The straw of hope that had been held out faded away again, and a mist came back over Syd’s eyes till he heard Strake’s voice, as he shook his son, shouting—
“Water, d’yer hear, Pan? to save us all.”
“Water,” said the boy, hoarsely; “water. Yes, I know,” he yelled. “I used to get lots—down there.”
“Where—where, boy?” cried the boatswain, wildly.
“Down—where—I hid—father,” he whispered. “Big hole—cave in the rocks. Plenty—water—give—water.”
He lurched over to the left, and lay insensible upon the floor.
If it was true! The last hope gone unless the boy could be revived sufficiently to guide them to the spot.
“He was mad,” said the boatswain, slowly; and he looked wildly round with his bloodshot eyes.
But the boy’s words had brought hope and a temporary strength to Syd, who pressed his head with his hands and tried to think.
“Would a bucket of sea-water revive him to make him tell us, Strake?” he croaked, more than spoke.