The agonies of thirst--A ghastly drink--I ask Yamba to kill me--My ministering angel--How Yamba caught opossum--The water witch--Abarometer of snakes--The coming deluge--The plunge into the Rapids--A waste of waters--A fearful situation--Barking alligators--English-speaking natives--A ship at last--I abandon hope--The deserted settlement.
By this time I began to feel quite delirious; I fear I was like a baby in Yamba's hands.She knew that all I wanted was water, and became almost distracted when she could not find any for me.Of herself she never thought.And yet she was full of strange resources and devices.When I moaned aloud in an agony of thirst, she would give me some kind of grass to chew; and although this possessed no real moisture, yet it promoted the flow of saliva, and thus slightly relieved me.
Things grew worse and worse, however, and the delirium increased.
Hour after hour--through the endless nights would that devoted creature sit by my side, moistening my lips with the dew that collected on the grass.On the fifth day without water I suffered the most shocking agonies, and in my lucid moments gave myself up for lost.I could neither stand nor walk, speak nor swallow.My throat seemed to be almost closed up, and when I opened my eyes everything appeared to be going round and round in the most dizzy and sickening manner.My heart beat with choking violence, and my head ached, so that I thought I was going mad.My bloodshot eyes (so Yamba subsequently told me) projected from their sockets in the most terrifying manner, and a horrible indescribable longing possessed me to kill my faithful Bruno, in order to drink his blood.My poor Bruno! As I write these humble lines, so lacking in literary grace, I fancy I can see him lying by my side in that glaring, illimitable wilderness, his poor, dry tongue lolling out, and his piteous brown eyes fixed upon me with an expression of mute appeal that added to my agony.The only thing that kept him from collapsing altogether was the blood of some animal which Yamba might succeed in killing.
Gradually I grew weaker and weaker, and at last feeling the end was near, I crawled under the first tree I came across--never for a moment giving a thought as to its species,--and prepared to meet the death I now fervently desired.Had Yamba, too, given up, these lines would never have been written.Amazing to relate, she kept comparatively well and active, though without water; and in my most violent paroxysm she would pounce upon a lizard or a rat, and give me its warm blood to drink, while yet it lived.Then she would masticate a piece of iguana flesh and give it to me in my mouth, but I was quite unable to swallow it, greatly to her disappointment.She must have seen that I was slowly sinking, for at last she stooped down and whispered earnestly in my ear that she would leave me for a little while, and go off in search of water.
Like a dream it comes back to me how she explained that she had seen some birds passing overhead, and that if she followed in the same direction she was almost certain to reach water sooner or later.
I could not reply; but I felt it was a truly hopeless enterprise on her part.And as I did not want her to leave me, I remember I held out my tomahawk feebly towards her, and signed to her to come and strike me on the head with it and so put an end to my dreadful agonies.The heroic creature only smiled and shook her head emphatically.She took the proffered weapon, however, and after putting some distinguishing marks on my tree with it, she hurled it some distance away from me.She then stooped and propped me against the trunk of the tree; and then leaving my poor suffering dog to keep me company, she set out on her lonely search with long, loping strides of amazing vigour.
It was late in the afternoon when she took her departure; and I lay there hour after hour, sometimes frantically delirious, and at others in a state of semi-consciousness, fancying she was by my side with shells brimming over with delicious water.I would rouse myself with a start from time to time, but, alas! my Yamba was not near me.During the long and deathly stillness of the night, the dew came down heavily, and as it enveloped my bed, I fell into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened some hours later by the same clear and ringing voice that had addressed me on that still night on my island sand-spit.Out upon the impressive stillness of the air rang the earnest words: "Coupe l'arbre! Coupe l'arbre!"I was quite conscious, and much refreshed by my sleep, but the message puzzled me a great deal.At first I thought it must have been Yamba's voice, but I remembered that she did not know a word of French; and when I looked round there was no one to be seen.
The mysterious message still rang in my ears, but I was far too weak to attempt to cut the tree myself, I lay there in a state of inert drowsiness until, rousing myself a little before dawn, Iheard the familiar footsteps of Yamba approaching the spot where Ilay.Her face expressed anxiety, earnestness, and joy.
