He
felt, for a time, that if that elusive bit of white should disappear he
would certainly break down. The heat and glare in the air added to his
misery, and he took another drink from the keg, despite his previous
abstemious resolve.
"I just can't help drinking," he said to himself in justification of
his act. "I reckon it's the wound makes me burn so."
For a long while matters remained much the same, except that his hunger
increased and his general state of discomfort grew to a point that
rendered his exposure to the sun's rays unbearable. He would have
taken his sail and made some sort of awning but for the faint hope that
it might be seen.
He crawled under the bow, where the deck sheltered the upper half of
his person, and found some relief. From time to time he crept out and,
standing on the thwarts, watched the unchanging speck of white, with
longings which at times were almost akin to despair.
Towards the middle of the afternoon, after a longer stay beneath the
deck than usual, he heard a slight thump against the side of the boat.
Scrambling up, he saw that a light breeze had arisen, sending little
ripples over the sea.
The wind was fair towards the distant sail, and Ralph again stepped his
mast and trimmed his sheet, while his heart beat fast. If he could
only get near enough to the stranger to be recognized!
But his progress was slow and many times the distant spot would
disappear momentarily, sending painful thrills through his veins.
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