It would be impossible to describe the wild joy that these words produced—men leaped to their feet, vociferating glad huzzas as they repeated the words “a sail, a sail.” Some pulled off their hats and waved them in the air—some leaped and danced about as though frantic, and even the most despairing behaved as if suddenly called to a new life.
I have said it would be impossible to picture that scene; but still more impossible to describe the contrast which, but the moment after, might have been witnessed upon the raft, when it was ascertained that the cry was a false alarm. No sail was in sight—there had been none—nothing could be seen of ship or sail over the wide circle of the ocean—nothing moved upon the glass-like face of that vast mirror.
A false alarm, entirely without foundation. Why the man had uttered it was soon explained. The wild expressions that were pouring from his lips, with the grotesque gestures he was making with his arms proved that he was mad!
Chapter Sixty Four.
Yes, the man was mad. The awful occurrences of the preceding night had deprived him of his reason, and he was now a raving maniac.
Some cried out to throw him into the sea. No one opposed this counsel. It would have been carried into execution—for several were prepared to lay hold of him when the maniac, apparently well aware of their intention, scrambled back into his former position; and, cowering down, remained silent and scared-like. It was not probable he would harm any one—he was left alone.
The excitement of this incident soon passed away, and the gloomy looks returned—if possible, gloomier than before, for it is ever so after hopes have been raised that terminate in disappointment.
So passed the evening and a portion of the night.