nd
washed my hands, to look a little more respectable should I ere long
make my appearance among the crew. For this purpose I withdrew the
spile, and allowed the fresh water to trickle first over my hands, and
then over my face. This still further refreshed me, and I wished that I
had performed a similar operation oftener. Had I not suspected that the
water at the bottom of the hold must have been by this time very foul, I
should have taken off my clothes and had a bath.

I refrained, however, from doing this, and contented myself with the
pleasant sensation of feeling cleaner than I had been for a long time.
I suspect that had I had a looking-glass placed before me, I should not
have known myself. On feeling my arms and legs, they seemed like those
of a skeleton; my cheeks were hollow, and my hair long and tangled. The
rat which I had last eaten had dulled the sense of hunger. I felt a
peculiar sensation afterwards, which convinced me more than ever that I
could not long exist on rats' flesh. I fancy that I might have been
wrong.

It was night when I made my last attempt to get upwards, so I thought
that I would take a sleep and renew my efforts in the daytime, when I
should have a better chance of attracting notice should I get near the
hatchway. I accordingly lay down to rest, hoping that it would be the
last time I should have to sleep in the hold. I took only short
snatches of sleep.

When I awoke I lay for some time without moving, and could not help
thinking over and over again of the events which had occurred since I
left the quay at Liverpool. I knew that the end of my confinement must
be approaching in some form or other; I should either die, or be
restored to the open air. In spite of the wretched condition to which I
had been reduced, I had a strong wish to live. I especially wanted to
go back to assure Aunt Deb that I had not intentionally run away, and
also to relieve the minds of my father and mother, and brothers and
sisters, of the anxiety I believed they must have felt on my account.
Suddenly also I remembered with painful distinctness the remarks Mr
Butterfield had made respecting Captain Longfleet, the commander of the
"Emu," and his ruffianly crew. Certainly their appearance was not in
their favour; and old Growles, who had received me so surlily, was not a
good specimen of British seamen. What if the ship should prove to be a
pirate, instead of an honest trader? I had heard of the