“Yes; thanks to you, they are,” answered Scudamore. “The man you jumped overboard after was the worst case; but, luckily, I had succeeded in resuscitating him before you were hauled aboard. You have saved fifteen human lives to-day! That is something to be proud of, is it not? And now, no more talking at present; what you require is sleep; and if you do not mind being left alone a minute or two I will go to my cabin and mix you a draught that will give you a good long nap, from which I have no doubt you will awake feeling as well as ever.”
So saying, the medico softly withdrew, quietly closing the cabin-door behind him, only to return a few minutes later with a draught of decidedly pungent taste, which, at his command, I tossed off instanter. Whether it was due to the potency of the draught, or to exhaustion, or to both combined, I know not, but certain it is that as I sank back upon the pillow my eyes closed, and almost instantly I went drifting off into the land of dreams.
When I next awoke it was well on toward evening, for the light had grown so dim that I could only indistinctly discern the various objects about the cabin. But there seemed to have been no abatement of the gale, for the ship was rolling and plunging as wildly as ever; the scuttle was frequently being dimmed by the dash of seas against the ship’s side; and the screaming of the gale through the rigging still rose high above every other sound.
My body seemed to be bruised and aching all over; but, with this exception, I felt little or none the worse for my morning’s adventure; I was very comfortable, but distinctly hungry; and I was lazily endeavouring to make up my mind whether I would go to the trouble of dressing, and hunting up a steward to find me something to eat, or whether I would remain where I was until somebody came to me, when the problem was solved by the opening of my cabin-door, and the entrance of the doctor. He advanced on tiptoe to the side of my bunk, and bent close over me, peering into my face to see whether I happened to be awake.
“What is the time, doctor?” I asked.
“Oh, so you are awake, eh?” he responded. “Well, how do you feel?”
“Sore and aching from head to foot, but otherwise all right—excepting that I am uncommonly hungry,” I answered.
“Hungry, eh?” said Scudamore. “Let me feel your pulse.”
He laid his fingers upon my wrist for a few seconds, and then said:
“Well, there doesn’t seem to be very much the matter with you now; you have had a good, long, sound sleep—I have been in and out from time to time, just to see that you were going on all right—and a good dinner will not hurt you. Will you have it brought to you here, or would you rather turn out and dress?”