“I am hot—hot!” he petitioned. “Mamma, give me water.”
Once during his appeals she started up and glared about her, as if there must be some means of relieving his sufferings; and then crying, “I shall go mad!” fell back with a low, heart-broken sob, and spoke no more, though the child persisted in his entreaties for a long while. Finally he burst into tears, and after plucking at his throat for a time, sank into an uneasy slumber, in which he uttered low moaning cries repeatedly.
A stupor now fell upon Holdsworth—a species of drowsy indifference to his fate and to the fate of his companions. He had fallen wearily upon a thwart and sat with his back against the mast, and visions began to float before him, and his whole physical being seemed lapped into a dreamy insensibility, that subdued, whilst it lasted, that subtle agonising craving for water which, since he was awakened from his sleep, had tormented him with a pang more exquisite than any other form of human suffering. He fought with the dangerous listlessness for some time, terrified at without understanding its import; but in spite of him, his mind wandered, and he presently thought that Dolly was at his side; whereupon he addressed her, and seemed to receive her answers, and asked her questions in a low, strange voice, often smiling as though the light of her eyes were upon his face and his arm around her.
His language was audible and intelligible; but Johnson, with one of the yoke-lines over his knees, his head supported in his hands, paid no more heed to him than to the flapping of the sail as the boat sometimes broached to; which insensibility was as shocking as the other’s delirious chattering.
[CHAPTER XI.]
THE FIFTH DAY.
In this way the boat drifted on until the dawn broke, when the wind fell.
Johnson lifted his head and looked about him; and first for the ship that had passed them in the night—but she was nowhere visible; then at Holdsworth, whose delirium had yielded to sleep, and who slumbered with his feet on the thwart, his back arched like a bow, and his head between his knees; then at the widow, who drooped against the boat’s side, her arm over the gunwale, and her hand in the water.
The boy was wide awake, reclining in the bottom of the boat, with his head against his mother’s dress. His eyes looked large and glassy, his lips white, and his skin dusky-hued. When he met Johnson’s gaze, he smiled as though he would coax him to give him what he wanted, and tried to speak, but his lips rather formed than delivered the word “water.” The man stared at him with the insensibility of despair in his eyes: and the boy, thinking that he had not heard him, and that he would get what he desired, if he could but articulate his wish, tried to stand up, meaning to draw close to the man’s ear; but his legs sank under him, and so he remained at the bottom of the boat smiling wanly and pointing to his throat, as though such dumb-show must needs soften Johnson’s heart, and obtain some water for him.