"I don't think I can stand it much longer, sir," he said.
The mate's plight was almost as bad; indeed his wound was worse than
Ralph's. But he was tougher; he had been shipwrecked twice previously.
"Lad," he replied, somewhat sternly, "never give up as long as you can
bat an eye. That's my doctrine."
And he looked it; so did Ralph a moment later, nor did the boy complain
again.
All that weary day they fought a losing battle against wind and wave,
and when night once more closed in without any sign of clearing
weather, the hearts of both were at the lowest ebb of hope. Had the
gale increased they must inevitably have been swamped.
Along about two bells in the first night watch the mate, who had never
uttered one word of complaint, groaned aloud.
"Give--me--water," he faltered. "I--I----" And he sank forward
against Ralph, and from there to the boat's bottom, where he lay
apparently insensible from exhaustion and pain.
The boy seized the tiller, or the yawl, broaching, would have shipped a
fatal sea. There was nothing to do but to hold to his post; so after
throwing a blanket over Duff he turned his attention to the boat,
keeping the shred of sail taut, and the bow as much to windward as
possible.
Later on he nodded, but found on awaking that the wind was decreasing.
This cheered him into renewed activity for a time, then he fell asleep
again, and so continued, with brief interludes of wakefulness, until he
felt himself sinking from the seat he had held so long.
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