He looked at her with dimmed, wistful eyes. “Thank you, miss. You're very kind to a cove like me. Will you 'old me 'and a bit longer, please.”
Early in the afternoon, as the boat slipped lazily over the gentle ocean swell, he died. And though Atkins and Harvey would have liked to have acceded to his last wishes to be buried on shore, stern necessity forbade them so doing, for they knew not how long it would be ere they reached Pikirami; and so at sunset his body was consigned to the deep.
For the rest of that day, and during the night, when the white rain squalls came with a droning, angry hum from the eastward and drenched the people with a furious downpour, flattening the heaving swell with its weight, the boat kept steadily on her course; and, but for the shadow of death which hourly grew darker over poor Morrison, the voyagers would have talked and laughed and made light of their sodden and miserable surroundings. Morrison himself was the most cheerful man in the boat, and when Atkins and Harvey rigged an oilskin coat over him to keep the rain from his face at least he protested as vigorously as he could, saying that he did not mind the rain a bit, and urging them to use it to protect “the two lassies” from the blinding and deafening downpour.
Dawn at last.
The misty sea haze lifted and scattered before the first breath of the gentle breeze, a blood-red sun leapt from the shimmering water-line to windward; a frigate bird and his mate swept swiftly through the air from the westward to view the dark spot upon the ocean two thousand feet below, and day had come again.
Tessa had the engineer's old, grey head pillowed on her lap. Harvey held his right hand, and Atkins, who knew that the end was near, had taken off his soddened cap, and bent his face low over the haft of the steer-oar.
“Do you feel any pain, Mr. Morrison?” asked Tessa, as she stroked the old man's face, and tried to hide her tears.
“Well, I wouldna be for saying no, and I wouldna be for saying yes, my dearie,” replied the brave old fellow; “I'm no complaining aboot mysel', but I'd like to see ye 'saft and warm,' as we Scots say, instead of sitting here wi' my auld, greasy head in your lap, and your ain puir body shivering wi' cauld. Gie me your hand, Harvey Carr... and yours too, Miss Remington.... May God guide ye both together; and you too, Atkins, for ye are a guid sailor man, and a honest one, too. And if ye can get to this lagoon in time—ye know what I mean—ye'll pit my auld bones under God's earth and no cast me overboard?”