There is a strange and peculiar sensation experienced in recovering
from a state of insensibility, which is almost indescribable: a sort of
dreamy, confused consciousness; a half-waking, half-sleeping condition,
accompanied with a feeling of weariness, which, however, is by no means
disagreeable. As I slowly recovered, and heard the voice of Peterkin
inquiring whether I felt better, I thought that I must have overslept
myself, and should be sent to the mast-head for being lazy; but before
I could leap up in haste, the thought seemed to vanish suddenly away,
and I fancied that I must have been ill. Then a balmy breeze fanned my
cheek, and I thought of home, and the garden at the back of my father's
cottage, with its luxuriant flowers, and the sweet-scented honeysuckle
that my dear mother trained so carefully upon the trellised porch. But
the roaring of the surf put these delightful thoughts to flight, and I
was back again at sea, watching the dolphins and the flying-fish, and
reefing topsails off the wild and stormy Cape Horn. Gradually the roar
of the surf became louder and more distinct. I thought of being wrecked
far, far away from my native land, and slowly opened my eyes to meet
those of my companion Jack, who, with a look of intense anxiety, was
gazing into my face.
"Speak to us, my dear Ralph," whispered Jack tenderly. "Are you better
now?"
I smiled, and looked up, saying, "Better! why, what do you mean, Jack?
I'm quite well.
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