ut no man owned them or used them, for, like many other spots in that
sea of coral isles and savage men, the island was uninhabited.

In all the wide expanse of ocean that surrounded that island, there was
nothing visible save one small, solitary speck on the far-off horizon.
It might have been mistaken for a seagull, but it was in reality a
raft--a mass of spars and planks rudely bound together with ropes. A
boat's mast rose from the centre of it, on which hung a rag of sail, and
a small red flag drooped motionless from its summit. There were a few
casks on the highest part of the raft, but no living soul was visible.
Nevertheless, it was not without tenants. In a hollow between two of
the spars, under the shadow of one of the casks, lay the form of a man.
The canvas trousers, cotton shirt, blue jacket, and open necktie,
bespoke him a sailor, but it seemed as though there were nothing left
save the dead body of the unfortunate tar, so pale and thin and ghastly
were his features. A terrier dog lay beside him, so shrunken that it
looked like a mere scrap of door-matting. Both man and dog were
apparently dead, but they were not so in reality, for, after lying about
an hour quite motionless, the man slowly opened his eyes.

Ah, reader, it would have touched your heart to have seen those eyes!
They were so deep set, as if in dark caverns, and so unnaturally large.
They gazed round in a vacant way for a few moments, until they fell on
the dog. Then a gleam of fire shot through them, and their owner raised
his large, gaunt, wasted frame on one elbow, while he gazed with a look
of eagerness, which was perfectly awful, at his dumb companion.

"Not dead _yet_!" he said, drawing a long sigh.

There was a strange, incongruous mixture of satisfaction and discontent
in the remark, which was muttered in a faint whisper.

Another gleam shot through the large eyes. It was not a pleasant look.
Slowly, and as if with difficulty, the man drew a clasp-knife from his
pocket, and opened it. As he did so, his brows lowered and his teeth
became clenched. It was quite plain what he meant to do. As he held
the open knife over the dog's head, he muttered, "Am I to die for the
sake of a _dog_!"

Either the terrier's slumbers had come to an end naturally, at a
fortunate moment, or the master's voice had awakened it, for it opened
its eyes, raised its head, and looked up in the sailor's face. The hand
with the knife drooped a little.