King o' the Beach: A Tropic Tale. George Manville Fenn
sleeping heavily, while, in thankfulness for the life which seemed to have been given back when they were prepared to die, Doctor Kingsmead watched by his patient’s side, waiting for the cessation of the storm and the light of day, which seemed as if it would never come.
Chapter Five.
“I’m so thirsty! Please, I’m so thirsty; and it is so hot!”
Twice over Doctor Kingsmead heard that appeal, but he could not move to respond to it, for Nature would have her way. He had sat watching his patient’s berth till he could watch no longer, since there are limits to everyone’s endurance, and that morning he had suddenly become insensible to everything, dropping into a deep sleep that there was no fighting against.
He had slept all that day solidly, if the term may be used, quite unconscious of everything; but towards evening he began either to hear things or to dream and hear external sounds.
Feeling too reasserted itself. He was scorched by the heat, and there was a pleasant lapping, washing sound of water making its way into his ears for some time before someone said the above words.
He smiled at last in an amused way as he lay in a half-conscious state, for it seemed to him that it was he that declared how thirsty he was and how hot, and he felt how breathless it was.
So calm and still too, and so pleasant to lie back there in spite of heat and thirst, listening to that lapping, washing sound softened by distance into a whisper.
Then the words were repeated, and he lay perfectly still with his eyes close shut, thinking in a dreamy way that it would be wise to drink a glass of water and open a window to let in the air, for it must be a hot morning down in his old Devonshire home with the sun shining through upon his bed.
Then all at once he opened his eyes and lay looking down at something upon the floor—something lying in the full glow of the ruddy sunshine which came through the round plate glass of the port-hole, and he was still so much asleep that he was puzzled to make out what it meant.
By degrees he grasped faintly that it was a man fast asleep, and making a gurgling noise as he breathed, but he could not make out why that man should be asleep on the floor of his bed-room in Devonshire, down there at Dawlish where the blue sea washed against the red rocks.
It was very puzzling and confusing, and when for the third time he felt that he was saying that he was so hot and so thirsty he uttered a sigh and said to himself that he must get up and drink a glass of water and open his bed-room window, before lying down again.
This thought roused him a little from his deep, heavy, stupefied state, and he had a surprise. For he made an effort to get up, and then felt startled on realising the fact that he was not lying down, but sitting in an awkward position, his head hanging back over the side of a chair, and his neck stiffened and aching.
Then he knew that he was not at home in Devonshire, but in the state-room of a ship, and that the heat was stifling.
This was enough to rouse him from his state of stupefaction a little more, and then as he straightened his neck and looked about he fully awoke with one mental leap.
His first glance was at Carey, who had moved and lay in a different position, but was quite motionless now.
His next was at the little port-hole window, which he unfastened and threw open, to feel a puff of soft air and hear the gentle washing of the ocean, which spread out calm and still like a sea of gold beneath an orange sky.
It was very calm, just heaving softly, and from a distance came at intervals the deep booming roar of the breakers on a reef; but there was hardly a breath of air, for the terrible hurricane had passed.
Stiff and aching from the awkward position in which he had slept, the doctor crossed to the door and pushed it open wide, with the result that the suffocating atmosphere of the cabin began rapidly to give place to the soft, warm, pure air, every breath of which cleared the late sleeper’s brain and gave him strength.
“Bostock—Bostock,” he said, softly; but there was no answer, and he bent down and touched the sleeper on the shoulder.
“Where away then?” grumbled the man.
“Bostock, wake up.”
“Heave to! D’yer hear? heave to!” came in low, muttered tones.
“Bostock, man, wake up. You’ve been asleep these ten or twelve hours.”
Still no sensible reply, and the doctor gave the man a rough shake.
“Ay, ay, sir,” he shouted. “All hands on deck! Tumble up, you lubbers; tumble up.”
“Hush!”
“Eh? The doctor! All right, sir. Why, I’ve been asleep!”
“Yes, yes, but be quiet,” whispered his companion. “I was overcome and have slept too.”
“But the youngster, sir?” whispered the old sailor, hoarsely, as he rose to his feet. “How is he, sir?”
“He has slept heavily. He does not seem any worse.”
“I’m so thirsty!” came feebly from the boy’s berth.
“Dear lad!” said Bostock, quickly. “I’ll get some water for him to drink.”
“Yes, quickly,” cried the doctor, as he recalled his dream-like ideas and grasped the truth.
The old sailor hurried out, and the doctor laid his hand gently on his patient’s head, to find it moist with perspiration. As he did so the boy’s eyes opened and he stared at the doctor wonderingly for a few moments before the light of recognition came into them, and he smiled.
“Doctor!” he said. “You here?”
“Yes, my dear boy,” said the doctor, gently. “How do you feel?”
“Been dreaming horribly, and got such a bad headache. But—but—”
He stared about him, then back at the doctor, and an anxious look came into his eyes.
“Have—have I been ill?” he said, in a husky voice, and he raised one hand to catch at the doctor’s, but let it fall with a faint cry of pain.
“Yes, a little; but you are getting better, my dear boy,” said the doctor, soothingly. “Don’t be alarmed; only lie still.”
“My shoulder throbs and burns, and my head is all queer. Ah, I remember now,” he cried, excitedly; “I fell.”
“Yes, yes, but—”
“Oh, doctor,” cried the boy, in a voice full of excitement, “don’t say I broke my new double glass!”
“My dear lad,” cried the doctor, smiling; “I don’t know.”
“Doctor!”
“But if you have I’ll buy you another.”
“So I fell from up aloft?”
“Here you are, sir,” came in a hoarse voice; “got at the tank quite easy, and I found a sound glass.”
Then the sturdy fellow gave a frisk after the fashion of an ancient goat.
“Hooroar!” he cried; “Jack’s alive O! I knew he wouldn’t die a bit!”
“Hush! Silence, man!” cried the doctor. “Mind! you’re spilling the water.”
“So I am,” said the old sailor, gruffly, and he began to pour out a glassful from the tin he held in one hand, raising the other so as to make the clear, cool liquid sparkle in bubbles as if he meant to give it a head.
“Ha!”