Bird Riley had fallen back on the ground; but he still continued to
talk, though his speech was very nearly incoherent. Graines was very
anxious to know what time it was, for the most important part of the
enterprise was to give the Bellevite timely notice of the coming of the
Trafalgar. He struck a match and lighted a cigar, offering one to the
mate, which he took and lighted. It was half-past twelve by his watch,
as he informed Bird, though he did so more for the information of the
lieutenant than of the mate.
"I reckon we are all about full enough to go to sleep, and we might as
well turn in," said Graines. "But I suppose you uns mean to sleep on
board of the West Wind."
"I don't reckon we'll do nothin' o' that sort," hiccoughed the mate. "We
done got a p'int to kerry, and I reckon we're gwine to kerry it."
"All right," gobbled the engineer, who overdid his part, if anything.
"What's the p'int, shipmate?"
"Cap'n Sull'dine's sho't handed," replied the mate, his speech turning
somersets as he labored to utter the words, for he still had a portion
of his senses left.
"I see," added Graines, tumbling over, but regaining his
perpendicularity with a trying effort. "Only six men left after you four
done runned away."
"Six!" exclaimed Bird, raising himself up with a desperate struggle,
like a wounded hawk. "No six in it; only two left.
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