I have no power to describe my feelings
while I waited to see what the brig would do. I cursed myself for
not having kept a lookout, so that I might have had plenty of time
to signal to her as she approached. If she abandoned me I knew I
must perish, as every instant assured me that I had neither mental
nor physical power to undergo another day and night without drink
and without hope upon the island.
On a sudden she hauled up the lee clew of her mainsail, boom-ended
her studding sails, and put her helm over. I knew what this signified,
and, clasping my hands, I looked up to God.
Presently a boat was lowered and pulled toward the island. I dropped
over the side, tumbling down upon my nose in my weakness, and made
with trembling legs to the beach, standing, in my eagerness, in
the very curl of the wash there. There were three men in the boat,
and they eyed me, as they rowed, over their shoulders as if I had
been a spectre.
"Who are you, mate, and what country is this?" exclaimed the man
who pulled stroke, standing up to stretch his hand to me.
I pointed to my throat, and gasped, "Water!" I could barely
articulate.
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