Two weeks later I awoke to life and misery in a wide, low-ceiled room. Tepi, with his arm in a sling, was bending over me, and sitting beside my bed were two padres.
“Where am I, good fathers?” I asked.
“In San Ignacio, my son,” replied the elder of the two. “God has spared you and this Indian sailor of yours to render thanks to Him and the Holy Virgin for His mercy.”
“And where are my friends—the two girls and Tematau? Tell me, Tepi! Tell me,” I said, with a dull terror at my heart. “Why do you shake and hide your face?” Then I turned to the priests.
“For God's sake, tell me, gentlemen,” and I clutched the hand of the one nearest to me.
“In Paradise, my son. They and three hundred other poor souls rendered up their lives to God thirteen days ago. Scarcely a score of people in Tarafofo escaped.”
The shock was too much for me, and I fell back again.