"Thank you, matey," the old man said; "but it's of little use to try and right the hull when there's a shot between wind and water, and the top-hamper is gone. Nevertheless, I take it in kindness."
I could not reply, for I understood enough of his nautical language to know that he had given up all hope of living, and that the two wounds which he had received were fatal.
I returned the canteen to its owner, and hastened to join Fred and Murden. The fire was still working its way towards us on one side, and receding on the other. The heat, however, had lost none of its intensity, and every breath which we drew appeared to parch our lungs and consume us internally.
"Have you decided what to do with the wounded men?" I asked, as I joined my friends.
"Our first decision still holds good," replied Murden. "We cannot save them and save ourselves."
"Hark! Do you hear that shout?" Fred said.
We listened intently for a moment, and above the roaring of flames and crushing of trees we could hear the shouts of exultation which the bushrangers in a distant part of the forest uttered, as they thought how we were struggling for life.
That cry, so joyful in the thought of our misery, steeled our hearts against the wounded wretches, who, with uplifted hands, were praying for drink, for life, for protection.
"In, men," shouted Murden. "We can endure the heat no longer. Already do yonder trees threaten to fall and crush us with their weight, and a minute's delay may prove our ruin."
There was no struggling to see who should first obey the order. With military precision the men filed in as calmly as though parading for a drill, and in a short time no one but Murden and myself were uncovered.