"
And he told the why and wherefore of his fear of the sea.
With a mate he had been for many months, beche-de-mer fishing, their
station or headquarters a lonely islet in Whitsunday Passage, which
winds about that picturesque group of islands through which Captain Cook
passed in the year 1770. The twain had been out on one of the spurs of the
Great Barrier Reef, and had been caught in the toils of adverse weather.
After beating about for days they managed to make their station--hungry,
thirsty, their souls fainting within them. Shelter and comfort were
theirs, and it was no surprise to my visitor when his mate slept the
next morning beyond the accustomed time. "Let him rest," he said. "He
is dog-tired;" and went about the work of the day. He had himself known
what it was to sleep eighteen and twenty hours at a stretch, for he had
many times been worn by toil and watching and nerve-tension to the limit
of endurance. And so the day passed, and the man in the bunk slept on.
Peace and rest were his, and the busy man envied the calm indifference
to the day's doings that he could not find in his heart to disturb.
"Won't he feel fresh when he does wake," he reflected.
Pages:
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282