"No you havn't; you won't ride out this squall. You are wrecked at last, and on the shoals now."
"Go to the devil. You are a capital Job's comforter, Bill," said the sinking sinner, trying to laugh.
"I'm thinking you will see him first. Gin there be a devil he should give you a good berth, since you have helped so many downwards. You'll know if there be a hell or not this night."
For some time, as if exhausted by his exertions in speaking, the Captain lay silent and motionless, save that now and then, as if in agony, he ground his teeth together or clenched the clothes between his fingers. Old Bill sat silently watching him without a feature moving. Again the dying Captain sat up, and passing his hand over his eyes as if to clear his vision, said, "Bill, the candle is going out—it is getting dark."
"It is your own candle going out, and the darkness of death in your brain!"
"You lie, dog, it is false! and yet—yet how dark it grows. The shadows pass quickly; ah! they're gone, I see clear again; and now once more they come—it grows dark, so dark! Bill, I'm dying—but get brandy, I've heard it has do—ne won—" He sank back, unable to articulate the final words.
Bill passed some of the burning spirit into his mouth from a flask; its effect was rapid and wonderful. Once more, fed by the ardent liquid which gave a short-lived strength, and, as it were, nourished the flickering lamp of life, the expiring man sat up.
"More, Bill, more! hurrah for brandy! More, I say. Ha! I begin to see clearly again. More yet, more! The shadows are gone; I feel new vigour. Ye gods, I'll come it yet!"
Bill shook his head.
"Give me the flask again," said the Captain, ere five minutes were flown; "the shades fall again; I will drive them to hell! ha! they go—they go to the devil who sent them; I shall live yet."