“So do I; but there is no use talking about it,” I observed.
“I am not much afraid of starving,” said Boxall. “We may hope to find oysters, or some other shell-fish, in the lagoon. I am more anxious about water; but even that we may possibly find by digging in the sand.”
Ben, overcome with fatigue, still slept on, undisturbed by our voices. I agreed with Boxall that he required rest even more than we did, and we therefore determined not to arouse him till daylight.
Chapter Seven.
Ben’s dream—An unpleasant discovery—A search for water—Friends or foes?—Boxall’s ingenious mode of obtaining a light—Our companion spirited away.
We lay on the ground, watching the stars gradually disappearing in the sky overhead, and still unwilling to awake Ben, who slumbered on, completely overcome by the fatigue he had endured for the last few days. At length the sun, like a huge ball of fire, rose above the region of sand-hills stretching out to the eastward. It was time therefore for us to get up and obtain a supply of pork from the store we had left on the beach, as also to commence a search for water. We called to Ben; who, starting to his feet, rubbed his eyes and looked wildly about him, as if not quite certain where he was.
“I mind all about it now,” he said, slapping his leg. “But, bless me, how I should like to have snoozed on: for I was dreaming that I was away back in Old England, in my sister Susan’s cottage, with the youngsters playing about in front of the porch, and Betsy Dawson—who has promised to marry me when I next get back—just coming in at the door to have a cup of tea and a quiet chat; and I was putting out my hand to take hers, when I found myself clutching a heap of sand.”
Poor Ben scarcely seemed to be aware that he was speaking aloud, for when he heard our voices he cast a bewildered look at us. We did not laugh at him, however,—that you may depend on.