She was still a great way off, but I could see down to her lower foretop-gallant sail, and to my starting eyes she seemed to grow as I watched her.  She was coming my way, and I have little doubt that, in the weakness of the moment and the sudden leap of hope when hope seemed dead, I laughed and cried and behaved like a witless man.  I know that I prayed God, as I had never prayed in my life before, that she might keep her course and come close enough for some sharp eye to see me.

Now I could see her fore and main courses, and presently the black dot of her hull, and at last the white curl at her forefoot, as she came pressing gallantly on, just as though she knew my need and was speeding her best to answer it.

While she was still far away, I raised myself as high as I could on my spar and waved my rag of sail desperately.  I tried to shout, but could not bring out so much as a whisper.  I waved and waved.  She was coming—­coming.  She was abreast of me, and showed no sign of having seen me.  She was passing—­passing.  I remember scrambling up onto the spar and waving—­waving—­waving—­

* * * * *

I came to myself in the comforting confinement of a bunk.  I could touch the side and the roof.  They were real and solid.  I rubbed my hand on them.  There was mighty comfort and assurance of safety in the very feel of them.

I lay between white sheets, and there was a pillow under my head.  I tried to raise my head to look about me, but it swam like oil in a pitching lamp, and I was glad to drop it on the pillow again.  The place was full of creakings, a sound I knew right well.

A door opened.  I turned my head on the pillow and saw a stout little man looking at me with much interest.

“Ah ha!” he said, with a friendly nod.  “That’s all right.  Come back at last, have you?  Narrow squeak you made of it.  How long had you been on that spar?”

“I remember—­a night and a day—­and a night—­and the beginning of a day,” I said, and my voice sounded harsh and odd to me.

“And nothing to eat or drink?”

“I chewed some seaweed, I think.”

“Must have been in excellent condition or you’d never have stood it.”

“What ship?”

“Plinlimmon Castle, East Indiaman, homeward bound.  This is sick-bay.  You’re in my charge.  Hungry?”

“No,” and I felt surprised at myself for not being.

“I should think not,” he laughed.  “Been dropping soup and brandy into you every chance we got for twenty-four hours past.  Head swimmy?”

“Yes,” and I tried to raise it, but dropped back onto the pillow.

“Another bit of sleep and you shall tell us all about it.”  And he went out, and I fell asleep again.

I woke next time to my wits, and could sit up in the bunk without my head going round.  The little doctor came in presently with another whom I took to be the captain of the Indiaman.  He was elderly and jovial-looking, face like brown leather, with a fringe of white whisker all round it.