“Well, boatswain!” I said, touching him on the shoulder.
He turned round quickly.
“Those villainous sharks have eaten every morsel of my bait,” he said, in a desponding voice.
“And you have no more left?” I asked.
“No more,” he said. Then grasping my arm he added, “and that only shows me that it is no good doing things by halves.”
The truth flashed upon me at once, and I laid my hand upon his mouth. Poor Walter!
CHAPTER XLII.
JANUARY 9th and 10th.—On the 9th the wind dropped, and there was a dead calm; not a ripple disturbed the surface of the long undulations as they rose and fell beneath us; and if it were not for the slight current which is carrying us we know not whither, the raft would be absolutely stationary.
The heat was intolerable; our thirst more intolerable still; and now it was that for the first time I fully realized how the insufficiency of drink could cause torture more unendurable than the pangs of hunger. Mouth, throat, pharynx, all alike were parched and dry, every gland becoming hard as horn under the action of the hot air we breathed. At my urgent solicitation the captain was for once induced to double our allowance of water; and this relaxation of the ordinary rule enabled us to attempt to slake our thirst four times in the day, instead of only twice. I use the word “attempt” advisedly; for the water at the bottom of the barrel, though kept covered by a sail, became so warm that it was perfectly flat and unrefreshing.