Chapter 52

CHAPTER LII.

JANUARY 25th.--Last night was very misty, and for some
unaccountable reason, one of the hottest that can be imagined.
The atmosphere was really so stifling, that it seemed as if it
only required a spark to set it alight. The raft was not only
quite stationary, but did not even rise and fall with any motion
of the waves.

During the night I tried to count how many there were now on
board, but I was utterly unable to collect my ideas sufficiently
to make the enumeration. Sometimes I counted ten, sometimes
twelve, and although I knew that eleven, since Jynxtrop was dead,
was the correct number, I could never bring my reckoning right.
Of one thing I felt quite sure, and that was that the number
would very soon be ten. I was convinced that I could myself last
but very little longer. All the events and associations of my
life passed rapidly through my brain, My country, my friends, and
my family all appeared as it were in a vision, and seemed as
though they had come to bid me a last farewell.

Towards morning I woke from my sleep, if the languid stupour into
which I had fallen was worthy of that name. One fixed idea had
taken possession of my brain; I would put an end to myself, and I
felt a sort of pleasure as I gloated over the power that I had to
terminate my sufferings. I told Curtis, with the utmost
composure, of my intention, and he received the intelligence as
calmly as it was delivered.

"Of course you will do as you please," he said; "for, my own
part, I shall not abandon my post. It is my duty to remain here,
and unless death comes to carry me away, I shall stay where I am
to the very last."

The dull grey fog still hung heavily over the ocean, but the sun
was evidently shining above the mist, and would, in course of
time, dispel the vapour. Towards seven o'clock I fancied I heard
the cries of birds above my head. The sound was repeated three
times, and as I went up to the captain to ask him about it, I
heard him mutter to himself,--

"Birds! why, that looks as if land were not far off."

But although Curtis might still cling to the hope of reaching
land, I knew not what it was to have one sanguine thought. For
me there was neither continent nor island; the world was one
fluid sphere, uniform, monotonous, as in the most primitive
period of its formation. Nevertheless it must be owned that it
was with a certain amount of impatience that I awaited the rising
of the mist, for I was anxious to shake off the phantom fallacies
that Curtis's words had suggested to my mind.

Not till eleven o'clock did the fog begin to break, and as it
rolled in heavy folds along the surface of the water, I could
every now and then catch glimpses of