down and the anchorage
became still as death. I sat down on a stone and began to think.
I felt certain they would start searching for me at daylight.
There was no place to hide on those stony things--
and if there had been, what would have been the good?
But now I was clear of that ship, I was not going back.
So after a while I took off all my clothes, tied them up in a
bundle with a stone inside, and dropped them in the deep water
on the outer side of that islet. That was suicide enough for me.
Let them think what they liked, but I didn't mean to drown myself.
I meant to swim till I sank--but that's not the same thing.
I struck out for another of these little islands, and it
was from that one that I first saw your riding light.
Something to swim for. I went on easily, and on the way I came
upon a flat rock a foot or two above water. In the daytime,
I dare say, you might make it out with a glass from your poop.
I scrambled up on it and rested myself for a bit.
Then I made another start. That last spell must have been
over a mile."
His whisper was getting fainter and fainter, and all the time
he stared straight out through the porthole, in which there
was not even a star to be seyilai：
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|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmemt