e, wandering
in his delirium, had come across the rum cask, drunk a quantity of its
contents, and been maddened by the fiery spirit.

Frere hurried to the side of Bates, and lifting him up, strove to
staunch the blood that flowed from his chest. It would seem that he had
been resting himself on his left elbow, and that Grimes, snatching the
knife from his right hand, had stabbed him twice in the right breast.
He was pale and senseless, and Frere feared that the wound was mortal.
Tearing off his neck-handkerchief, he endeavoured to bandage the wound,
but found that the strip of silk was insufficient for the purpose. The
noise had roused Mrs. Vickers, who, stifling her terror, made haste to
tear off a portion of her dress, and with this a bandage of sufficient
width was made. Frere went to the cask to see if, haply, he could obtain
from it a little spirit with which to moisten the lips of the dying man,
but it was empty. Grimes, after drinking his fill, had overturned
the unheaded puncheon, and the greedy sand had absorbed every drop of
liquor. Sylvia brought some water from the spring, and Mrs. Vickers
bathing Bates's head with this, he revived a little. By-and-by Mrs.
Vickers milked the goat--she had never done such a thing before in all
her life--and the milk being given to Bates in a pannikin, he drank it
eagerly, but vomited it almost instantly. It was evident that he was
sinking from some internal injury.

None of the party had much appetite for breakfast, but Frere, whose
sensibilities were less acute than those of the others, ate a piece of
salt meat and damper. It struck him, with a curious feeling of pleasant
selfishness, that now Grimes had gone, the allowance of provisions would
be increased, and that if Bates went also, it would be increased still
further. He did not give utterance to his thoughts, however, but sat
with the wounded man's head on his knees, and brushed the settling flies
from his face. He hoped, after all, that the pilot would not die, for
he should then be left alone to look after the women. Perhaps some such
thought was agitating Mrs. Vickers also. As for Sylvia, she made no
secret of her anxiety.

"Don't die, Mr. Bates--oh, don't die!" she said, standing piteously
near, but afraid to touch him. "Don't leave mamma and me alone in this
dreadful place!"

Poor Bates, of course, said nothing, but Frere frowned heavily, and Mrs.
Vickers said reprovingly, "Sylvia!" just as if they had been in