How I put in this week of misery, I can hardly find words to describe. I was forbidden to move about the ship. Never having been a heavy sleeper, I awakened on the next morning and found that the Sargasson cook had very thoughtfully placed a dish of dried berries and baked fish at the door of my stateroom. This thoughtfulness I highly appreciated, because I knew that I would be very hungry. I carefully divided the food into seven portions, in order that gluttony might not get the better of me, and cause me to suffer for the want of food later in the week.
I rose as usual with the sun on the following morning, and carefully tiptoed to the upper deck in order to make a long and thorough search of the horizon, in the hope that I may detect the smoke of some passing vessel. I longed for the companionship of men who belonged to the real world that I feared I had left for ever. Although I climbed to the masthead, my search was in vain. Not a moving object was in sight!
I could and would have escaped had I not been in love with Fidette.
The description of one day will answer for all of those that succeeded during the week of misery. If the incident of the trombone player had not occurred when it did, I believe I could have occupied my mind during the entire week with thoughts of Fidette. But, under the circumstances, I was torn by jealousy, and my affection for the dear girl had been sorely weakened. Therefore, I used to sit for hours far out in the bowsprit, as it surged in and out the swaying sea, and rehearse to myself again and again the unhappy incident. There was an unreality about it that annoyed me. If Fernandez were dead some one else had played the trombone. Knowing nothing of Fernandez, this unknown would not come to see Fidette, and I could easily turn the girl’s mind against the suppositious lover when he failed to put in an appearance.
She confidently expected me. Now, if he didn’t come, I would win her!
I contrived to sleep about twelve hours out of the twenty-four. But the silence and the loneliness were very oppressive.
To me, of course, sleep did not mean excitement. In the long voyages I had made I had grown used to taking very little sleep. Besides, I was very anxious for Fidette to wake in order that we might be reconciled. Several times I contrived to look into her dainty cabin as I passed the half-open door, but she lay arrayed like a bride on her pretty couch, apparently in a stupor. The Sargassons never snore. I have been told that very few of them ever dream dreams.
Their lives are so romantic in themselves that they need no visions in their sleep.
Following my afternoon nap, I generally took a bath in Fidette’s pond. She was asleep, and I did not therefore intrude upon her privileged property.
Almost counting the hours, the dreary week wore away. My provisions were entirely exhausted by the sixth night, economize as carefully as I could.