“Does any thing ail you, Zabra?” at last asked Master Porphyry, during an intermission of the storm, noticing that his companion had made two or three short hysteric sobs.
“No; I am well, I am quite well, Oriel,” murmured the youth, as he raised his head, and looked in the face of his associate.
“Why, your eyes are filled with tears, Zabra! How is this?” exclaimed the other affectionately.
“I know not. A feeling has come over me, which I could not control,” replied he in a whisper, as his delicate frame trembled with emotion. “I was thinking—I was thinking that, if the ship was swallowed up in these huge waves, that—that I should like—that I should like to die—that I should like to die with you thus;” and, with many sobs, he flung his arms round the neck of his patron, and let his head droop upon his breast.
“And so you shall, Zabra, if such fate be ours,” said Oriel Porphyry, much moved by the devotion of his young friend. “But I see no reason to despair yet. The gallant Albatross bears it bravely; and, unless we lose the masts, or ship one of these overwhelming seas, we shall ride into port by to-morrow, or the next day at latest. But this is childish of you, Zabra, to give way to such feelings. You behaved not in this way when we were fighting side by side amid the pirates. Come, come! be more like yourself; and when the storm is over, which I hope will soon be, you shall laugh at these apprehensions; and you shall sing me one of your stirring songs, all about the glory and the freedom to be found upon the mighty waters of the deep; and I shall be enraptured, and you will rejoice.”
Zabra raised his head, shook back the clustering curls that shadowed his face, and looked earnestly upon his patron.
“I will do as you wish me,” he replied. “I have been wrong in disturbing your contemplations with my foolish fears: but, however proud the heart may be,—however great, and brave, and noble be all its tendencies,—there comes a time when all superiority and all valour are lost in a sense of overpowering humility and apprehension. But, hark! The elements are again let loose upon us. Hear how the wind howls, like a lion roaring for his prey! And look at this mountain of water sweeping up to ingulf us within its dark devouring jaws. Cling to the mast, Oriel! cling to the mast! or you will be swept into the sea.”
Oriel Porphyry held one arm tightly round the waist of Zabra: with the other he grasped the mainmast, as the towering billow, forced onward by a violent gust of wind, broke on the deck, carrying away two of the sailors, who were inattentive to its advance, and pouring through every opening into the lower parts of the ship.
“A man overboard!” was the immediate cry: but the vessel was proceeding at so rapid a rate, that no effort could be made to save them. When the fury of the tempest had abated, the two friends descended to the cabin; where Oriel, observing that Zabra seemed ill and faint, wanted him to take such refreshment as his exhausted frame needed, and tried to strengthen the effect of his command by setting before him a good example. A long fast, and the excitement of danger, continued for such a period of time, required nourishment; and the young merchant seemed desirous of showing his companion that his fatigues had not spoiled his appetite; but though he pressed him frequently to partake liberally of the different things he had ordered for him, he could not induce him to follow his directions to any thing like the extent he desired. In fact, Zabra appeared to have suffered too much from the state of feeling in which he had existed during the recent tempest to be able to realise the kind wishes of his patron.
“My dear Zabra you are not well,” observed Oriel Porphyry, finding his endeavours and example so little attended to. “You look perfectly exhausted. Go to your hammock and endeavour to sleep off your fatigues. If I do not see that you take proper care of yourself, I shall deserve censure from Eureka. So if you do not wish to get me into trouble, you will do as I desire you.”