Some raved of rich repasts, and with idiot joy enumerated the viands that smoked before them, or the cool draughts of spring water that gurgled over mossy rocks and under broad green leaves in shady woods—and of luscious fruit that grew in ripe clusters, but which they strove to reach in vain, as, like the gushing spring, it always eluded them. In pursuit of one of these illusions, poor Hans Peterkin fell overboard, and, without an effort to save himself, sank like a stone. Alas! the holy well of Kildingie and the blessed dulse of Guiodin, availed him nothing now!
At last we ceased to row, for the strongest among us "caught crabs" from time to time, and had the oars twitched out of their hands by the sea, for we were helplessly and hopelessly worn out.
The haggard features of some became rigid; the black fur of fever gathered upon their cracked lips; and their wild, sunken, and blood-shot eyes assumed a snaky glare. Their wasted forms seemed to dwindle before me; then they grew and dwindled again like a species of phantasmagoria, as I sat bewildered and half torpid among them; then a lurch of the boat would throw some of them off the thwarts motionless and dead!
On the Twelfth day after we had abandoned the Leda, there remained in the boat only four alive, including Hartly, Reeves, a seaman named Jones, and myself. All the rest had been thrown overboard in succession as they died—even poor Cuffy Snowball, clutching his violin to the last.
In their delirium some had been very violent—proposing to scuttle the boat; others threw the oars overboard and unclasped their knives to slay their messmates. One sprang into the sea, with a husky cry, and ended his miseries at once.
Grim and fearful as they were, I thought the calm aspect of those who died was to be envied. They seemed so free from every ill and storm that might assail them, while those who yet lived and lingered were the most helpless of human beings. I know not why or how it was that so many strong and hardy men perished, while I survived.
Reeves, Hartly, and Jones the sailor, lay prostrate in the bottom of the boat; and at times I knew not whether they were alive or dead, save by an occasional spasm that twitched their features, or a quivering in their limbs. After a time even these symptoms of existence ceased.
I felt the slumber of long exhaustion stealing over me. Lest the boat might capsize in a squall, I remember having just sense and strength sufficient to enable me to let go the halyard, and lower the sail, or rather, let it fall by its own weight, when I sank down in the stern sheets, and must have lain there for hours.
A drizzling rain refreshed me, and when I awoke, the silver moon, was shining on the sea.
Another night had descended upon us!