How long I lay in the cave, or whether in a swoon or sleeping, I cannot say, but when my senses returned I had a vivid impression that I had just awoke out of a fearful dream. The state of my body, and a glance at the rocks around, however, soon convinced me that the incidents of the past day and night were reality indeed. I now not only felt sore and numbed, but my whole body tingled with a peculiar sensation similar to that which a person feels when his leg, or foot, is said to be “asleep.” On looking outward, I fancied, in my half blind condition, that the sun was shining brightly on the sand, and I made up my mind, if possible, to get out to the heat. After a number of ineffectual attempts, I managed to rise once more on hands and knees, and got outside, although, when on the way, I reeled over, like a drunken man, at least a dozen times. With my back on the sand, I lay head up hill towards the cliffs, but was not there long till I felt sorry I had left the cave, for the sun seemed to have no heat in it, and the sand, drifting with the strong wind, flew all over me. I knew I was too far gone to attempt to return to the cave, and thought my time had come at last!
Concerning the incidents which took place some time after my coming out of the cave on to the beach, the reader is already acquainted with them from the narrations given by others in the former portions of this book. Personally I have no clear recollection of these matters. Excepting during intervals of consciousness, all is blank to me up till Saturday morning, 30th December, when I found myself in bed at Clark’s hotel, Sorrento, surrounded with the best of comfort and attention. I distinctly remember hearing the voices of ladies coming nearer and nearer on the beach, and of my being ungracious enough to feel no joy at the sound. The thought uppermost in my mind then was “It’s all over. Too late, too late!”
I also remember speaking to the ladies and subsequently to some gentlemen. I saw too, as in a dream, a group of people and a dog, and wondered what they were all doing. During the five days I remained at Sorrento I received nothing but the greatest care and attention from everybody. Then I was removed to my own home at South Melbourne, where through starting to walk too soon, my legs and feet got bad again and I was confined to bed for six weeks. I believe I will ultimately get all right, but up to present time of writing, I still feel, in nerves and muscles, the effects of the long exposure. Frequently at night I wake up suddenly, suffering from severe cramps and under the impression that I am on the raft at sea! This reminds me of a remark I overheard the other day in Melbourne that “the survivor of the Alert stuck to his raft because he could not swim.” No greater mistake could be made. I am a native of Tortworth, near Bristol, England, and when at school there was taught to swim by the clergyman of the parish. Afterwards I removed to Clevedon, in the Bristol Channel, where I practised daily, during summertime, swimming in the surf. Without reckoning myself an expert, I purpose in the next chapter to make a few remarks on this important subject.
R. PONTING AND MR. A. STANTON’S DOG “VICTOR HUGO.”
From a Photo taken after the Wreck.
CHAPTER X.
HINTS ON SWIMMING.
There is not an effect without a cause,