The Survivors of the Chancellor: Chapter 51

Chapter 51

CHAPTER LI.

JANUARY 24th.--I have inquired more than once of Curtis if he has
the faintest idea to what quarter of the Atlantic we have
drifted, and each time he has been unable to give me a decided
answer, though from his general observation of the direction of
the wind and currents he imagines that we have been carried
westwards, that is to say, towards the land.

To-day the breeze has dropped entirely, but the heavy swell is
still upon the sea, and is an unquestionable sign that a tempest
has been raging at no great distance.  The raft labours hard
against the waves, and Curtis, Falsten, and the boatswain, employ
the little energy that remains to them in strengthening the
joints.  Why do they give themselves such trouble?  Why not let
the few frail planks part asunder, and allow the ocean to
terminate our miserable existence?  Certain it seems that our
sufferings must have reached their utmost limit, and nothing
could exceed the torture that we are enduring.  The sky pours
down upon us a heat like that of molten lead, and the sweat that
saturates the tattered clothes that hang about our bodies goes
far to aggravate the agonies of our thirst.  No words of mine can
describe this dire distress; these sufferings are beyond human
estimate.

Even bathing, the only means of refreshment that we possessed,
has now become impossible, for ever since Jynxtrop's death the
sharks have hung about the raft in shoals.

To-day I tried to gain a few drops of fresh water by evaporation,
but even with the exercise of the greatest patience, it was with
the utmost difficulty that I obtained enough to moisten a little
scrap of linen; and the only kettle that we had was so old and
battered, that it would not bear the fire, so that I was obliged
to give up the attempt in despair.

Falsten is now almost exhausted, and if he survives us at all, it
can only be for a few days.  Whenever I raised my head I always
failed to see him, but he was probably lying sheltered somewhere
beneath the sails.  Curtis was the only man who remained on his
feet, but with indomitable pluck he continued to stand on the
front of the raft, waiting, watching, hoping.  To look at him,
with his unflagging energy, almost tempted me to imagine that he
did well to hope, but I dared nor entertain one sanguine thought;
and there I lay, waiting, nay, longing for death.

How many hours passed away thus I cannot tell, but after a time a
loud peal of laughter burst upon my ear Some one else, then, was
going mad, I thought; but the idea did not rouse me in the least.
The laughter was repeated with greater vehemence, but I never
raised my head.  Presently I caught a few incoherent words.

"Fields, fields, gardens and trees!  Look, there's an inn under
the trees!  Quick, quick!  brandy, gin, water!  a guinea a drop!
I'll pay for it!  I've lots of money!  lots!  lots!"

Poor deluded wretch!  I thought again; the wealth of a nation
could not buy a drop of water here.  There was silence for a
minute, when all of a sudden I heard the shout of "Land!  land!"

The words acted upon me like an electric shock, and, with a
frantic effort, I started to my feet.  No land, indeed, was
visible, but Flaypole, laughing, singing, and gesticulating, was
raging up and down the raft.  Sight, taste and hearing--all were
gone; but the cerebral derangement supplied their place, and in
imagination the maniac was conversing with absent friends,
inviting them into the George Inn at Cardiff, offering them gin,
whisky, and, above all water!  Stumbling at every step, and
singing in a cracked, discordant voice, he staggered about
amongst us like an intoxicated man.  With the loss of his senses
all his sufferings had vanished, and his thirst was appeased.  It
was hard not to wish to be a partaker of his hallucination.

Dowlas, Falsten, and the boatswain, seemed to think that the
unfortunate wretch would, like Jynxtrop, put an end to himself by
leaping into the sea; but, determined this time to preserve the
body, that it might serve a better purpose than merely feeding
the sharks, they rose and followed the madman everywhere he went,
keeping a strict eye upon his every movement.

But the matter did not end as they expected.  As though he were
really intoxicated by the stimulants of which he had been raving,
Flaypole at last sank down in a heap in a corner of the raft,
where he lay lost in a heavy slumber.

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