Lieutenant Walter suffers more than any of us from the scarcity of water, and I noticed that Miss Herbey reserved almost the whole of her own share for his use. Kind and compassionate as ever, the young girl does all that lies in her power to relieve the poor fellow’s sufferings.
“Mr. Kazallon,” she said to me this morning, “that young man gets manifestly weaker every day.”
“Yes, Miss Herbey,” I replied, “and how sorrowful it is that we can do nothing for him, absolutely nothing.”
“Hush!” she said, with her wonted consideration, “perhaps he will hear what we are saying.”
And then she sat down near the edge of the raft, where, with her head resting on her hands, she remained lost in thought.
An incident sufficiently unpleasant occurred to-day. For nearly an hour Owen, Flaypole, Burke, and Jynxstrop had been engaged in close conversation and, although their voices were low, their gestures had betrayed that they were animated by some strong excitement. At the conclusion of the colloquy Owen got up and walked deliberately to the quarter of the raft that has been reserved for the use of the passengers.
“Where are you off to now, Owen?” said the boatswain.
“That’s my business,” said the man insolently, and pursued his course.
The boatswain was about to stop him, but before he could interfere Curtis was standing and looking Owen steadily in the face.
“Ah, captain, I’ve got a word from my mates to say to you,” he said, with all the effrontery imaginable.