“Gregory, I do believe the young rascal is dead,” he said.
“It may save a world of trouble if he is,” answered old Growles; “for those passengers are making a precious fuss about him. If he was to get ashore, he’d be telling tales. We can say he died in his sleep, and let them have his body, which will show how it happened.”
“Not if he’s black in the face. Here, hand the lantern, and let’s have a look.”
All this time I was afraid to open my eyes, or even to breathe; and I thought that, if I could sham being dead, they would carry me on deck, and I would then soon show them the contrary. I guessed that I must have rolled over with my face away from the door, so that they couldn’t see it. Presently I felt a hand placed on my shoulder to draw me round. I let them move me as they liked, and I knew, from the light which I saw through my eyelids, that the rays of a lantern were cast on me. I flattered myself that I was succeeding very well, till I heard the boatswain remark—
“People don’t die with their eyes shut.”
Then a hand was placed on my face, and old Growles observed—
“The young chap’s as alive as I am; he’s quite warm. Rouse up, Dick, you rascal! But take care you don’t sing out, or it’ll be the worse for you.”
Still I endeavoured to make them believe I was really dead. It was a satisfaction to find that they were casting off the lashings from my arms and legs; but when one of them lifted up my arm I let it fall down again, like that of a dead person. This seemed to puzzle them, and old Growles gave me a cruel pinch on the arm. Though I didn’t cry out, I had the greatest difficulty not to flinch. He then bent back one of my fingers. It was a wonder he didn’t break it. Not able to endure the pain, I cried out.
“I thought so,” he said, with a low laugh. “You can’t play your tricks off on us, youngster,” said the boatswain, “and you’ll gain nothing by it.”
I said nothing, but looked up at him as if I had just awakened out of a sleep or a trance.