The boat drifted on hour after hour, the sun rose, the wave-crests sparkled and glanced under his cheering rays, and still the horizon remained sail-less. At last Tom, after stirring uneasily, awoke from his stupor, glanced with eager, haggard eyes around him, and uttered a groan of despair.
“Then it is not true, after all,” he gasped; and George noticed with consternation the difficulty with which the poor fellow articulated,—“it is not true; it was only a dream.”
“What was a dream, Tom?” asked George, and he started at the hollow sepulchral tones of his own voice.
“I dreamt that a noble ship had hove in sight and was bearing down upon us under stunsails. She was painted white from her truck down to her water-line; her canvas was white as snow; she was flying a great white flag from her main-royal-masthead, and the people on board her were all dressed in white. It was a grand sight to see her sweeping down toward us, with the cool clear water flashing up under her sharp bows, and there was—ah! see, it was no dream, after all; hurrah! she comes—she comes!”
And the poor fellow pointed away to where the rays of the sun fell upon the water in a broad white dazzling glare.
“Merciful Heaven!” muttered George, “this is horrible; the lad is out of his senses, gone mad with hunger and thirst. Sit down, Tom,” said he coaxingly, “sit down, there’s a good fellow; I can see no ship. What you see is only the glare of the sun on the water. But if we are only patient, please God, a ship will come and pick us up before long. But we must be cool and steady, and keep a sharp lookout, so that when she heaves in sight we may be ready to signal to her.”
Tom passed his hand wearily over his forehead, shaded his eyes with his hand, again peered long and anxiously over the gleaming sea, and shook his head despondingly. The bright vision had vanished, and he sank moodily down in the bottom of the boat, his arms resting upon the thwart, and his head bowed upon them.
Oh! that terrible time of waiting; with the sun beating mercilessly down upon their uncovered heads and scorching up their brains; with the hellish tortures of hunger and thirst, already unendurable, momentarily increasing in intensity; with a horrible feeling of deadly weakness fast paralysing their energies and dragging like leaden weights upon their aching limbs, what wonder that each moment lagged until it seemed an hour, each minute a day, and that the hours stretched themselves out into eternities of overwhelming anguish! At last George feebly felt, with a curious mingling of despair and relief, that his own senses were leaving him. Soon the boat was—to his disordered vision—no longer drifting helplessly upon a lonely sea; she was tranquilly gliding under silken sails up the winding reaches of a gently flowing stream, the crystal waters of which flowed over golden sands and between banks of richest flowery verdure, with overshadowing trees whose boughs drooped beneath their load of blushing fruit; whilst, in the distance, palaces of whitest marble gleamed amid the many-tinted foliage, and all the air was musical with the songs of birds. He no longer felt the agonies of hunger or the fiery torment of thirst; he plucked the ripe fruit as the boat swept gently past, and his pangs were assuaged; he no longer suffered from the scorching rays of the sun, for a silken awning floated over his head, and the cool breeze crept refreshingly beneath it and gently fanned his aching brow; and he no longer suffered from weariness, for his body reclined upon cushions of the softest down, and he felt himself gradually sinking into a luxurious slumber under the soothing influence of the most entrancing melodies.
“Ou ay; he’ll do weel eneuch, he’s comin’ roun’ brawly; it’s joost a plain common case o’ starvation an’ exposure; there’s naething complicatit about it at a’; pairfect rest and a guid nourishing diet ’ll set him on his pins again in less than a week.”