“Quite dead, poor soul! Did you ever see anything more heart-rending than his body, captain? Mere skin and bone—and, oh! sir, the expression of his face!” exclaimed Mr. Sherman, holding his hands over his eyes a moment.
“Thirst is an awfu’ thing,” said the skipper, glancing at his tumbler.
“And so is hunger,” observed Mr. Banks, who looked as though a whole ox might hardly serve him for a meal.
“I expect, when the other poor fellow is capable of speaking, that we shall hear a terrible tale,” said Mr. Sherman. “It is very providential that my slight knowledge of medicine should qualify me to deal with him. The greatest care is required in treating persons nearly dead of starvation. I have fed him so far in spoonfuls only. It is my intention to remain with him through the night. I’ll borrow one of your easy-chairs, captain, which will serve me very well for a bed.”
“Certainly. I am sleeping close at hand, and if you want me, just give my cot a shove, and I’ll be out of it before you can tell which side I drop from.”
This settled, the captain mixed himself another tumbler of spirits, refilled his pipe, and entered into speculations as to Holdsworth’s nationality, the length of time he had been in the boat, the probable longitude and latitude in which the ship had taken fire or foundered, with many other matters, all of which he relieved with long pauses, and a variety of thoughtful puffs and attentive glances at the light through the medium of his tumbler. Presently four bells—ten o’clock—struck, which made Mr. Banks rise from his seat, wish his companions “Coot night,” and withdraw to his cabin to get a couple of hours’ sleep before his watch came on. The others remained chatting for half an hour, and then the skipper went on deck to have a look around before turning in for the night.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
HOLDSWORTH’S RECOVERY.
The cabin in which Holdsworth lay was a spare one, next the captain’s. It was lighted by an oblong piece of frosted glass let into the deck overhead, and by a port-hole which was a standing and comfortable illustration of the immense thickness of the timbers that separated the inmate from the sea. There was a square of cocoa-nut matting on the deck to tread on; up in a corner an immovable washstand, containing a pewter basin; a row of pegs against the door; and a mahogany bunk.
In this bunk lay Holdsworth, and at the hour of which I am now writing, Mr. Sherman sat beside him in an easy-chair, his legs up and his head back, in a deep sleep. From the centre of a beam hung a small oil-lamp, the frame carefully protected by wire network; and the light diffused by this lamp was clear enough to exhibit Holdsworth’s face distinctly.