Twenty-four hours passed. The little boat still rocked hither and thither on the ocean billows. The five faces looked more haggard, and there was a wild, eager look upon them, as they scanned the horizon, hoping to see a ship. Their lips and throats were dry and parched.
"I can't stand it no longer," said one—it was the sailor I have called Jack—"I shall drink some of the sea water."
"Don't do it, Jack," said Bunsby. "You'll suffer more than ever."
"I can't," said Jack, desperately; and, scooping up some water in the hollow of his hand, he drank it eagerly. Again and again he drank with feverish eagerness.
"How is it?" said the second sailor,
"I feel better," said Jack; "my throat so dry."
"Then I'll take some, too."
The other two sailors, unheeding the remonstrances of Bunsby and the captain, followed the example of Jack. They felt relief for the moment, but soon their torments became unendurable. With parched throats, gasping for breath, they lay back in agony. Suffering themselves, Captain Rushton and Bunsby regarded with pity the greater sufferings of their wretched companions.
"This is horrible," said the captain.
"Yes," said Bunsby, sadly. "It can't last much longer now."