“I was thinking about it all night, Strake,” said Syd, “and it was as great a puzzle to me. I heard the gurgling of water that day when Mr Dallas was hurt, and thought it must be the sea coming in through some crack, and I never thought of it again till I felt that I was dying. Then it came like a flash.”
“Dying! Lor’ now, we warn’t dying,” said the boatswain cheerily. “But thirsty I will say though, as I never was so thirsty afore. I’ve been hungry, and had to live for a week on one biscuit and the wriggling things as was at the bottom of a cask, but that’s heavenly to going without your ’lowance o’ water.”
“Don’t talk about it,” said Syd; “it was a horrible experience.”
“Well, come, sir, I like that,” growled Strake, who soon seemed quite himself again; “it was you begun it, not me.”
“I?” cried Syd, angrily; “why, didn’t you come to me, sir, and say that you always thought as long as a man had a biscuit and plenty of rum he could do without water?”
“Why, so I did, Master Syd, sir. Of course I’d forgotten it. Got so wishy-washy with so much water, that I can’t think quite clear again yet.”
“Never mind; you know better about the rum now.”
“Yes, sir; and if I gets back home again well and hearty, you know, there’s a good cellar under the cottage at home.”
“Yes, of course, I know. What of that?”
“Well, sir, I’m going to set Pan-y-mar to work—his fin ’ll be strong long afore then—to wash all the empty wine-bottles I can find up at the house, and I’m goin’ to fill ’em at the pump, cork ’em up, and lay ’em down in the cellar same as the captain does his port wine.”