The sound of his voice woke up Gottlieb, the remaining German sailor, who was lying near Jake, the latter being next me as usual.
This man had taken the loss of his countryman a good deal to heart. Our hardships, besides, had affected his health; for, all of us noticed how ill he looked during the day when working at clearing away the masts.
“I vas die!” he now exclaimed.
“Dying? Nonsense, my man, not a bit of it,” cried Captain Miles. “Keep up your courage, and you’ll be worth a hundred dead men yet.”
“Ach nein, I vas die, I knows,” replied the other, speaking solemnly in deep low tones.
His German accent and mode of speech seemed to come out more strongly now than I had noticed before; and it flashed across my mind how I had once read somewhere that, when a man is at his last, though he may have lived amongst strangers for years and spoken a foreign tongue, he will then naturally go back to the language and thoughts of his own country.
“Shall I get you some water?” asked Jackson, who was also awake and heard what Gottlieb had said.
“Nein—no. I want not water, not nothing,” returned the other. “Listen, I’ve got to tell you sometings before I vas die. I did not speak before for fear to make mischief. You remember my poor frients Hermann?”
“Aye,” said Captain Miles, now keenly attentive. “Poor fellow, he fell overboard and got caught by the sharks.”
“Dat is what I vant explain,” painfully whispered the German, his voice failing him. “Hermann vas not fall overboard. He vas throwed over.”