OUR THIRST RELIEVED
JANUARY 16.--If the crew of any passing vessel had caught sight of us
as we lay still and inanimate upon our sail-cloth, they would scarcely,
at first sight, have hesitated to pronounce us dead.
My sufferings were terrible; tongue, lips, and throat were so parched
and swollen that if food had been at hand I question whether I could
have swallowed it. So exasperated were the feelings of us all, however,
that we glanced at each other with looks as savage as though we were
about to slaughter and without delay eat up one another.
The heat was aggravated by the atmosphere being somewhat stormy. Heavy
vapors gathered on the horizon, and there was a look as if it were
raining all around. Longing eyes and gasping mouths turned
involuntarily toward the clouds, and M. Letourneur, on bended knee, was
raising his hands, as it might be in supplication to the relentless
skies.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning. I listened for distant rumblings
which might announce an approaching storm, but although the vapors had
obstructed the sun's rays, they no longer presented the appearance of
being charged with electricity. Thus our prognostications ended in
disappointment; the clouds, which in the early morning had been marked
by the distinctness of their outline, had melted one into another and
assumed an uniform dull gray tint; in fact, we were enveloped in an
ordinary fog. But was it not still possible that this fog might turn to
rain?
Happily this hope was destined to be realized; for in a very short
time, Dowlas, with a shout of delight, declared that rain was actually
coming; and sure enough, not half a mile from the raft, the dark
parallel streaks against the sky testified that there at least rain was
falling. I fancied I could see the drops rebounding from the surface of
the water. The wind was fresh and bringing the cloud right on toward
us, yet we could not suppress our trepidation lest it should exhaust
itself before it reached us.
But no; very soon large heavy drops began to fall, and the storm-cloud,
passing over our heads, was outpouring its contents upon us. The
shower, however, was very transient; already a bright streak of light
along the horizon marked the limit of the cloud and warned us that we
must be quick to make the most of what it had to give us. Curtis had
placed the broken barrel in the position that was most exposed, and
every sail was spread out to the fullest extent our dimensions would
allow.
We all laid ourselves down flat upon our backs and kept our mouths wide
open. The rain splashed into my face, wetted my lips, and trickled down
my throat. Never can I describe the ecstasy with which I imbibed that
renovating moisture. The parched and swollen glands relaxed, I breathed
afresh, and my whole being seemed revived with a strange and
requickened life.
The rain lasted about twenty minutes, when the cloud, only half
exhausted, passed quite away from over us.
We grasped each other's hands as we rose from the platform on which we
had been lying, and mutual congratulations, mingled with gratitude,
poured forth from our long silent lips. Hope, however evanescent it
might be, for the moment had returned, and we yielded to the
expectation that, ere long, other and more abundant clouds might come
and replenish our store.
The next consideration was how to preserve and economize what little
had been collected by the barrel, or imbibed by the outspread sails. It
was found that only a few pints of rain-water had fallen into the
barrel; to this small quantity the sailors were about to add what they
could by wringing out the saturated sails, when Curtis made them desist
from their intention.
"Stop, stop!" he said "we must wait a moment; we must see whether this
water from the sails is drinkable."
I looked at him in amazement. Why should not this be as drinkable as
the other? He squeezed a few drops out of one of the folds of a sail
into a tin pot, and put it to his lips. To my surprise, he rejected it
immediately, and upon tasting it for myself I found it not merely
brackish, but briny as the sea itself. The fact was that the canvas had
been so long exposed to the action of the waves, that it had become
thoroughly impregnated by salt, which of course was taken up again by
the water that fell upon it. Disappointed we were; but with several
pints of water in our possession, we were not only contented for the
present, but sanguine in our prospect for the future.