I can ill describe the emotions that agitated my bosom. Though
delivered from the terror of immediate death, there was nothing in the
respite to give me any feeling of joy. It would be only a short
procrastination of my doom, for certainly in the morning I must die.
The slender chances of our seeing a sail were scarce worth
contemplating; and I derived no consolation by dwelling upon such a
contingency.
My fate, therefore, I looked upon as sealed. My protector could not
save me. He had done the utmost in his power, in procuring the reprieve
that was to give me this slight chance for my life. If it failed, he
would undoubtedly have to keep his word and surrender me up.
I felt as the condemned criminal whose hour of execution has been fixed,
and who knows it--with perhaps, only the difference that I could look
forward to the event with a clear conscience. I felt not as a criminal,
but a victim--a martyr among ruffians.
Of course I thought not of sleep--all sleep was banished from my
eyelids. With such a prospect before me how could I sleep? Sadly at
that crisis did I think of home, of parents, and kindred. Bitterly did
I repent that I ever ran away to sea!
Alas! like many others who have acted disobediently and rashly--my
experience had been too dearly purchased--my repentance came too late.
To-morrow by sunrise must I die; and oh! such a dreadful doom! My fate
would never be known; for, though I was made a sacrifice, it was not
likely that my executioners would long survive me. The chances that any
of them would ever reach land were slight indeed; and, even if they
should, it was not likely they would ever divulge that secret. I should
never more be heard of; neither friends or kindred would ever know my
sad fate, and it would be better that they should not. Oh! it was a
dreadful doom!
Suffering under such reflections, I lay stretched along the plank; my
protector was still by my side--so near that our shoulders touched, and
our heads were close together--I could have heard anything he might have
said, though uttered only in a whisper; but for a long time he did not
address a word to me. He appeared to be busied with his own thoughts--
as if buried in some deep cogitation--and did not desire to be spoken
to. Noticing this, I too remained silent.
The night came down and promised to be dark, most of the preceding
nights had been very clear, as there had been moonlight and scarce a
cloud in the sky for weeks before. On this day, however, and
particularly towards the close of it, black clouds had shown themselves
above the horizon, and although the sea was still under a calm, it
appeared as if some change was at hand.
After the sun had set, these clouds rose higher and higher--until a
black pall of them covered the whole firmament, completely shrouding the
moon, and, not only hiding her from our eyes, but hindering her beams
from casting their light over the sea.
The surface of the water, instead of glittering around us, as it had
done upon preceding nights, was now of a grey, gloomy complexion--for it
reflected the colour of the clouds that hung over it. Both wore fit
emblems of my own sad spirit.
Almost mechanically I remarked to my companion this change in the
heavens, and spoke about the darkness of the night.
"So much the better, lad," was his laconic reply, and he again relapsed
in silence, as if he did not desire to be led into conversation.
I lay for awhile pondering upon his reply. How was it better?--what
signified the darkness?--what advantage could be gained by that? A dark
night could not bring ships upon the sea; nor could it save me from the
doom that had been decreed. The sun would rise all the same; and at his
rising I must die! The darkness could not avail me! What could he
mean?
I pondered a long while upon his answer, but could not make out its
signification. Had he intended it as a phrase of encouragement--
something to hold out a hope to me--something to cheer me? for
indefinitely it had this effect--or was the answer given mechanically
and without thought?
The former I dared not hope. Since the moment in which my respite had
been granted, he had not spoken nor offered a word of hope, for certain
was I that he had none to offer. What then meant he by the words he had
just uttered--"So much the better, lad?"
I would at length have asked him; but, just as I had made up my mind to
do so, I perceived that he was twisting himself about, and before I
could speak to him, he had turned his head away--so that he could no
longer have heard me in a whisper. Not desirous that others should
overhear the question I was about to put to him, I remained silent and
waited for a better opportunity.