“The misery and the horror of that first night on the raft won’t bear talking about; and if they would it would need a more clever man than I am to describe ’em. All I can remember is that I sat there the whole night through, in the black darkness, holding on for my life with both hands, with the sea washing over me, sometimes up to my neck, speaking to nobody, and nobody speaking to me.
“The gale broke about an hour before dawn; and when the sun rose he showed us a sky full of clouds that looked like tattered bunting of every imaginable colour one could think of, all scurrying across the sky in a westerly direction. And then we found that the wind had veered round and was coming out from about east-south-east. As soon as it was light enough to make out things, I took a look round to see how the rest of us had weathered out the night; and I tell you, sir, it nearly broke my heart to find that we mustered three less than we were when we left the barque, the poor old skipper being one of the missing. They had been washed off and drowned during the night; at least that’s how I accounted for their loss.
“Then we opened our little stock of provisions—consisting mostly of cabin biscuit—that we had wrapped up in a bit of tarpaulin, intending to put a bit of food into ourselves and so get a little strength and encouragement. But when we came to open the bundle we found it full of salt water—and no wonder, seeing what clean breaches the sea had been making over us all night—so that our bread was just reduced to pulp, and no more fit to eat than if it was so much putty. And our water was pretty nearly as bad; the sea had got at it, too, and made it that brackish that it tasted more like physic than water. However, we took a drink all round, and tried to persuade one another that it wouldn’t be so very long before something would come along and pick us up.
“The sea took a long time to quiet down; but by sunset it had smoothened so far that it only just kept the raft awash and the water up to our waists as we sat; so, as we had by this time got pretty well used to being wet through, we were feeling fairly comfortable, or should have been if only we had had a morsel of something to stay our hunger, and a drain of sweet water to quench our thirst—for we soon found that the more water we drank out of our breaker, the thirstier we grew.
“That night the steward went crazy, and started singing. First of all he began with the sort of songs that a sailor-man sings on the forecastle during the second dog-watch on a fine night; and from that he branched off into hymns. Then he fancied that he was at home once more, talking to his wife and the chicks, and it made my heart fairly bleed to listen to him. Then, after he had been yarning away in that style for more than an hour, he quieted down, and I thought he was getting better. But when daylight broke he was gone—slipped quietly overboard during the night, I reckoned.
“The next day was a terrible one. Our sufferings from hunger and thirst were awful; and about midday one of the men—an A.B. named Tom Bridges—went raving mad, and swore that he didn’t intend to starve any more; said that one of us must die for the good of the rest; and presently set upon me, saying that I was in better condition than any of the rest, and that therefore I was the proper one to be sacrificed. He was a big, powerful man, and proved a match for the other five of us. We must have fought for a good twenty minutes, I should think, when he suddenly took hold of me round the waist and, lifting me off my feet as easily as if I was a baby, made to jump overboard with me in his arms. But another man tripped him up; and although we both went overboard, poor Tom struck his head as he fell, and must have been stunned, for I felt his grip slacken as we struck the water, and presently I managed to free myself and swim to the raft. But Tom went down like a stone, and we never saw him again.
“That adventure just about finished us all, I think; I know it finished me, for it completely took out of me what little strength I had left, and although I remember it falling dark that night, and also have a confused recollection of getting up once or twice during the next day to take a look round, I know nothing of what happened after that until I came back to my senses on the deck of that queer-looking craft of yours, and tasted the brandy that you were trying to pour down my throat.”
“Well,” remarked Leslie, “it has been a terrible adventure for you both, and one that you will doubtless remember for the remainder of your lives. But your time of suffering is now past, and what you have to do is to get well and strong as soon as possible. Yet, even here, although you run scant risk of perishing of hunger or thirst, and are in as little danger of drowning, there is another peril, namely, that of savages, to which we are all equally exposed; although I rather hope that certain action that I felt it incumbent upon me to take yesterday and last night may have averted it for a time at least. But perhaps, having heard your story, I had better tell you mine, and you will then understand our precise position—yours as well as Miss Trevor’s and my own.”
To this speech Nicholls replied in effect that, having already seen a great deal to excite his surprise and curiosity, it would afford him much pleasure to listen to anything in the way of explanation that Leslie might be pleased to tell them; a remark that Simpson cordially but briefly endorsed by adding—
“Same here, sir.”