Chapter 41 - Page 2

of us devoured the food
raw, almost I might say, alive; only Curtis, Andre and Miss
Herbey having the patience to wait until their allowance had been
boiled at a fire which they made with a few scraps of wood. For
myself, I confess that I swallowed my portion of fish just as it
was,--raw and bleeding. M. Letourneur followed my example; the
poor man devoured his food like a famished wolf, and it is only a
wonder to me how, after his lengthened fast, he came to be alive
at all.

The boatswain's delight at his success was, excessive, and
amounted almost to delirium. I went up to him, and encouraged
him to repeat his attempt.

"Oh, yes," he said; "I'll try again. I'll try again."

"And why not try at once," I asked.

"Not now," he said evasively; "the night is the best time for
catching large fish. Besides, I must manage to get some bait,
for we have been improvident enough not to save a single scrap."

"But you have succeeded once without bait; why may you not
succeed again?"

"Oh! I had some very good bait last night," he said. I stared
at him in amazement. He steadily returned my gaze, but said
nothing.

"Have you none left?" at last I asked.

"Yes!" he almost whispered and left me without another word.

Our meal, meagre as it had been, served to rally our shattered
energies; our hopes were slightly raised; there was no reason why
the boatswain should not have the same good luck again.

One evidence of the degree to which our spirits were revived was
that our minds were no longer fixed upon the miserable present
and hopeless future, but we began to recall and discuss the past;
and M. Letourneur, Andre Mr. Falsten, and I held a long
conversation with the captain about the various incidents of our
eventful voyage, speaking of our lost companions, of the fire, of
the stranding of the ship, of our sojourn on Ham Rock, of the
springing of the leak, of our terrible voyage in the top-masts,
of the construction of the raft, and of the storm. All these
things seemed to have happened so long ago, and yet we were
living still. Living, did I say? Ay, if such an existence as
ours could be called a life, fourteen of us were living still.
Who would be the next to go? We should then be thirteen.

"An unlucky number!" said Andre with a mournful smile.

During the night the boatswain cast his lines from the stern of
the raft, and, unwilling to trust them to any one else, remained
watching them himself. In the morning I went to ascertain what
success had attended his patience. It was scarcely light, and
with eager eyes he was peering down into the water. He had
neither seen nor heard me coming.

"Well, boatswain!" I said, touching him