On the May Queen Sylvia and I had thought Mr. Wheeler rather a commonplace sort of man. We knew him for a hero in the cutter. Often he used to break off pieces of his biscuit, I know, to add to Sylvia's and mine.
"Friends," he said on the eleventh day, "the biscuit is all gone." His face was ghastly. His eyes were hollow. His lips were cracked and sore.
"And the water?" asked the doctor faintly.
"Barely a teaspoon apiece."
"Keep it for the women then," suggested Dr. Atherton.
"No!" shouted Davis with an oath.
And, "We're all in the same boat," muttered Evans.
Gilliland lifted his bloodshot eyes. "Hold your jaw!" he said.
Hookway groaned feebly.
They looked more like wild beasts than men, with their ghastly faces, and their glaring eyes—especially Davis.