I must be dying for lack of air. And the man at
the helm, where was he? He must have fallen asleep, and left our vessel
to her own buoyant fancies. And my companions! Bonflon! De Aery! All
ere this might have perished, and the "Flying Cloud," aside from
myself, be bearing into these upper altitudes nothing but a load of
death.
Terror-struck, I dragged myself, with all the speed I could accomplish,
to the stern. There sat the helmsman at his post, but asleep or
insensible. I shook him, but he gave no signs of life. I shouted with
what little strength I had, but in vain.
"Wake up! wake up!" I cried, "or we are lost!"
At length he opened his eyes, but did not move.
"Wake up!" I screamed again. "Breakers ahead, and worse. You have let
the craft run wild. We are above our level. We are all dying for lack
of air."
"Oh, let me sleep!" he murmured. "I must sleep a little while longer.
It can't--can't be morning yet."
By this time, fright, or the necessity of the occasion, was renewing my
strength.
"Dick!" I shouted in his ear, "Dick, you scoundrel! you will murder us
all. Do your duty, or I will shoot you!"
With this I discharged a barrel of my revolver above his head, which,
like my voice in my efforts at hallooing, sounded only as a faint echo
of itself, but, nevertheless, proved sufficient to give his dormant
faculties a shock.
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