For several days the sailor lay tossing in helpless misery in his bower,
without food or fire. Indeed he could not have eaten even if food had
been offered him, and as to fire, there was heat enough in his veins,
poor fellow! to more than counterbalance the want of that.
During part of the time he became delirious, and raved about home and
sea-life and old companions in a way that evidently quite alarmed Cuffy,
for that sagacious terrier approached his master with caution, with his
tail between his legs, and a pitiful, earnest gaze, that was quite
touching. This was partly owing to the fact that Jarwin had several
times patted him with such painful violence as to astonish and render
him doubtful of the affection displayed by such caresses. Jarwin also
recurred at these times to his tobacco and beer, and apparently suffered
a good deal from dreams about those luxuries. In his ravings he often
told Cuffy to fill a pipe for him, and advised him to look sharp about
it, and he frequently reproached some of his old comrades for not
passing the beer. Fortunately the fountain was close at hand, and he
often slaked his burning thirst at it. He also thought frequently of
the skeleton in the thicket, and sometimes raved with an expression of
horror about being left to die alone on a desert island.
By degrees the fever reached its climax, and then left him almost dead.
For a whole day and night he lay so absolutely helpless that it cost him
an effort to open his eyes, and he looked so ill that the poor dog began
to whine piteously over him, but the day after that a sensation of
hunger induced him to make an effort to rouse up. He tried to raise his
head--it felt as if made of lead.
"Hallo! Cuffy, somethin' wrong I suspect!"
It was the first time for many days that Jarwin had spoken in his
natural tones. The effect on the dog was instantaneous and powerful.
It sprang up, and wagged its expressive tail with something of the
energy of former times; licked the sick man's face and hands; whined and
barked intelligently; ran away in little bursts, as if it had resolved
to undertake a journey off-hand, but came back in a few seconds, and in
many other ways indicated its intense delight at finding that Jarwin was
"himself again."
But alas! Jarwin was not quite himself yet, and Cuffy, after his first
ebullition, sat looking in surprise at the invalid, as he strove to turn
on his side, and reach out his heavy hand and skinny arm towards a few
scraps of the last meal he had cooked before being struck down. Cuffy,
after eating the portion of that meal that suited his taste, had left
the remnants there as being unworthy of notice, and catered for himself
among the dead fish cast up on the beach. Although lying within a yard
of his couch, Jarwin had the greatest difficulty in reaching the food;
and when he did at length succeed in grasping it, he fell back on his
couch, and lay for a long time as if dead. Soon, however, he recovered,
and, with a feeling of gratitude such as he had never before
experienced, began to gnaw the hard morsels.
"I'm in a bad way, Cuff," he said, after satisfying the first cravings
of hunger.
Cuffy gave a responsive wag with his tail, and cocked his ears for more.
"Hows'ever, seems to me that I've got the turn; let's be thankful for
_that_, my doggie. Wonder how long I've bin ill. Months mayhap. Don't
think I could have come to be sitch a skeleton in a short time. Ha!
that minds me o' the skeleton in the wood. Have 'ee seed it, Cuff,
since I found 'ee there? Well, I must eat and drink too, if I would
keep the skin on _my_ skeleton. Wish you had hands, doggie, for I'm
greatly in need o' help just now. But you're a comfort, anyhow, even
though you hain't got no hands. I should have died without you, my
doggie--you cheer me up, d'ee see, and when it's nigh low water with a
man, it don't take much to make him slip his cable. The want of a kind
look at this here time, Cuffy, would have sent me adrift, I do believe."
It must not be supposed that all this was spoken fluently. It came
slowly, by fits and starts, with a long pause at the end of each
sentence, and with many a sigh between, expressive of extreme weakness.
"I wish I had a drink, Cuffy," said the invalid after a long pause,
turning a longing look towards the spring, which welled up pleasantly
close to the opening of the hut. "Ay, that's all very well in its way,
but bow-wowin' an' waggin' yer tail won't fetch me a can o' water.
Hows'ever, it's o' no manner o' use wishin'. `Never say die.' Here
goes."
So saying, he began slowly and painfully, but with unyielding
perseverance, to push, and draw, and hitch himself, while lying at full
length, towards the spring, which he reached at last so exhausted, that
he had barely put his lips to it and swallowed a mouthful, when his head
dropped, and he almost fainted. He was within an ace of being drowned,
but with a violent effort he drew his face out of the spring, and lay
there in a half unconscious condition for some time, with the clear cool
water playing about his temples. Reviving in a little time, he took
another sip, and then crawled back to his couch. Immediately he fell
into a profound slumber, from which Cuffy strove in vain to awaken him;
therefore, like a sagacious dog, he lay down at his master's side and
joined him in repose.
From that hour Jarwin began to mend rapidly. In a few days he was able
to walk about with the aid of a stick. In a few weeks he felt somewhat
like his former self, and soon after that, he was able to ascend to the
top of the island, and resume his watch for a passing sail. But the
first few hours of his watch beside the old flagstaff convinced him that
his hopes would, in all probability, be doomed to disappointment, and
that he would soon fall back into a state of apathy, from which he might
perhaps be unable to rouse himself, in which case his fate would
certainly be that of the poor sailor whose remains he had that day
buried in the pit near to which they had been discovered. He resolved,
therefore, to give up watching altogether, and to devote all his
energies in future to devising some plan of escape from the island, but
when he bent his mind to this task he felt a deep sinking of the heart,
for he had no implements wherewith to construct a boat or canoe.
Suddenly it occurred to him, for the first time in his life, that he
ought, in this extremity, to pray to God for help. He was, as we have
said, a straightforward man, prompt to act as well as ready to conceive.
He fell on his knees at once, humbly confessed his sin in depending so
entirely on himself in time past, and earnestly asked help and guidance
for the future. His prayer was not long--neither was the publican's--
but it was effectual. He arose with feelings of strong resolution and
confidence, which appeared to himself quite unaccountable, for he had
not, as yet, conceived any new idea or method as to escaping from the
island. Instead of setting his mind to work, as he had intended, he
could not help dwelling on the fact that he had never before
deliberately asked help from his Maker, and this raised a train of
self-condemnatory thoughts which occupied him the remainder of that day.
At night he prayed again before laying down to rest.
Next morning he rose like a giant refreshed, and, after a plunge in the
sea and a hearty breakfast, set out with Cuffy for a meditative walk.
Great were the thoughts that swelled the seaman's broad chest during
that walk, and numerous, as well as wild and quaint, were the plans of
escape which he conceived and found it necessary to abandon.
"It's harder work to think it out than I had expected, Cuffy," he said,
sitting down on a cliff that overlooked the sea, and thinking aloud.
"If you and I could only swim twenty miles or so at a stretch, I'd risk
it; but, as nothin' short o' that would be likely to be of sarvice, we
must give it up. Then, if I could only cut down trees with my shoe, and
saw planks with my jacket, we might make a boat; but I can't do that,
and we haven't no nails--except our toe-nails, which ain't the right
shape or strong enough; so we must give that up too. It's true that we
might burn a canoe out of a solid tree, but who's to cut down the solid
tree for us, doggie? I'm sure if the waggin' of a tail could do it you
wouldn't be long about it! Why on earth can't 'ee keep it still for a
bit? Well, then, as we can't swim or fly, and haven't a boat or canoe,
or the means o' makin' em, what's the next thing to be done?"
Apparently neither man nor dog could return an answer to that question,
for they both sat for a very long time in profound silence, staring at
the sea.