I baled out the boat with a hat, for the forms of my passive companions were half-covered by water. As I did so, I thought Hartly spoke—at least, that his white and bloodless lips moved; but this might be fancy. My mind was a chaos of gloom, misery, and terrible forebodings.
Anxious to learn whether life yet lingered in my friend, or whether I was quite alone—the last man—with the dead upon that silent midnight sea, I stooped close to Hartly; but at that moment the boat gave a sudden lurch, which threw me violently among the three bodies. In falling, my head struck against one of the thwarts, and happily I became senseless.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XXXIII.
WHAT FOLLOWED.
After that night a long time of dreamy stupor seemed to elapse, before any distinct sense of existence forced itself upon me. Then I seemed to wake from a heavy slumber (which had frequently been crowded by dreadful images), and found myself in bed, and in what appeared to be a little state-room that opened off a ship's cabin.
The roof seemed close and near my eyes; but the bed was soft and screened by green curtains, which hung upon a brass rod. The little panelled apartment had shelves crammed with books and bundles of papers; a gun, a cutlass, and telescope were hung on hooks; and from the deck above, a bull's-eye threw the sun's rays vertically down upon me. I saw all these details at a glance, but believed them to be portions of a dream—that I was still tossing in the open boat, with my dead or dying companions rolling about in the bilge-water below the thwarts—so my last thoughts of loneliness, of despair, and coming death recurred to me in all their bitterness.
Gradually, however, the warmth and softness of the couch on which I lay became too confirmed and real to be doubted; and now a hot but soothing liquid, like mulled wine, was poured between my lips. I drank deeply, and not until the draught was ended did I open my heavy eyes, and again look round me, fearing to dispel the delicious illusion of imbibing a liquid, for the wild agonies of unassuaged thirst were still in my memory.
A jolly and bluff-looking seaman, well tanned by exposure to the weather, and well whiskered; squat in figure, merry in eye, and hearty in voice, wearing a straw hat and pea-jacket, with a handsome gold ring to secure the ends of his black silk neck-tie, was holding back the green curtain, and surveying me with some solicitude of manner.
"How do you feel yourself now, my lad?" he asked.