I slept neither very long, nor very soundly. My sleep was full of
dreams, all troubled and horrid; but not more horrid than the reality to
which I once more awoke.
After awaking, it was some time before I could think of where I was; but
on stretching out my arms, I was reminded of my situation: on every side
the wooden walls of my prison were within reach, and I could touch them
with my fingers all around. I had little more than room sufficient to
turn myself in. Small as was my body, another as big as myself would
almost have filled the space in which I was shut up.
On again comprehending my fearful situation, I once more gave utterance
to loud cries, shouting and screaming at the very highest pitch of my
voice. I had not yet lost all hope that the sailors might hear me; for,
as already stated, I knew not what quantity of merchandise might be
stowed above me, nor did I think of the hatches of the lower deck being
fastened down.
Perhaps it was as well I did not know the whole truth, else the complete
despair which the knowledge must have produced might have driven me out
of my senses. As it was, the intervals of despair already endured had
ever alternated with glimpses of hope; and this had sustained me, until
I became more able to look my terrible fate in the face.
I continued to cry out, sometimes for minutes at a time, and then only
now and again, at intervals; but as no response came, the intervals
between my spells of shouting became longer and longer, till at length,
resigning all hope of being heard, I allowed my hoarse voice to rest,
and remained silent.
For several hours after this, I lay in a sort of half stupor--that is,
my mind was in this state, but unfortunately my body was not so. On the
contrary, I was racked with severe bodily pain--the pain of extreme
thirst--perhaps the most grievous and hardest to endure of all physical
suffering. I never should have believed that one could be so tortured
by so simple a thing as the want of a drink of water, and when I used to
read of travellers in the desert, and shipwrecked mariners on the ocean,
having endured such agonies from thirst, as even to die of it, I always
fancied there was exaggeration in the narrative. Like all English boys,
brought up in a climate where there is plenty of moisture, and in a
country where springs or runlets exist within a few hundred yards of any
given point, it is not likely I should ever have known thirst by
experience. Perhaps a little of it at times, when at play off in the
fields, or by the sea-shore, where there was no fresh water. Then I had
felt what we ordinarily call thirst--a somewhat unpleasant sensation in
the throat, which causes us to yearn for a glass of water. But this
unpleasantness is very trifling, and is almost neutralised by the
anticipation we have of the pleasure to be experienced while allaying
it; for this, we know, we shall be able to accomplish in a very short
time. Indeed, so trifling is the annoyance we feel from ordinary
thirst, that it is rare when we are compelled to stoop, either to the
ditch or the pond, for the purpose of assuaging it. We are dainty
enough to wait, until we encounter a cool well or some limpid spring.
This, however, is not thirst; it is but thirst in its first and mildest
stage--rather pleasant from the knowledge you have of being able soon to
remove the pain. Once take away this confidence--become assured that no
wells nor springs are near--no ponds, ditches, lakes, nor rivers--that
no fresh water is within hundreds of miles of you--no fluid of any kind
that will allay the appetite, and then even this incipient feeling of
thirst would at once assume a new character, and become sufficiently
painful to endure.
I may not have been so absolutely in need of drink at the time, for I
had not been so long without it. I am sure I had often gone for days
without thinking of water, but this was just because I knew I might have
as much as I pleased at a moment's notice. Now, that there was none to
be had, and no prospect of obtaining any, I felt for the first time in
my life that thirst was a real agony.
I was not again hungry. The provisions which I had purchased with the
price of my sloop were not yet exhausted. Some pieces of the cheese,
and several of the biscuits, still remained, but I did not venture to
touch them. They would only have increased my thirst. The last morsels
I had eaten had produced this effect. My parched throat called only for
water--water at that moment appeared to me the most desirable thing in
the world.
I was in a situation somewhat similar to that of Tantalus. Water I saw
not, but I heard it. The hoarse rushing of the waves as they tore along
the sides of the ship was plainly audible. I knew it was the water of
the sea--salt, and of no service to me, even could I have reached it--
but still it was the sound of water playing continually on my ears as if
to mock and tantalise me.
I need not recount the many painful reflections that passed through my
mind during the period that followed. Suffice it to say, that for many
long hours I endured the terrible pain of thirst, without any hope of
being relieved from its torture. I felt certain it was going to kill
me. I knew not how soon, but I was sure that sooner or later it would
cause my death. I had read of men living for days under the agony of
thirst, before life became extinct. I tried to remember how many days
they had lived, but my memory was at fault. Six or seven, I fancied,
was the longest period. The prospect was appalling. How could I endure
for six or seven days what I was then suffering? How could I bear it
for even one day longer? Oh! it was fearful to endure! I hoped that
death would sooner come, and release me from such torture!
But a far brighter hope was nigh; and almost upon the instant that I had
given mental expression to that despairing wish, a sound fell upon my
ears that at once changed the current of my thoughts, and caused me to
forget the horror of my situation.
Oh! that sweet sound! It was like the whisper of an angel of mercy!