CHAPTER XXVII.
Reflections--The wounded man--The squall--True consolation--Death.
There is a power of endurance in human beings, both in their bodies and in their minds, which, I have often thought, seems to be wonderfully adapted and exactly proportioned to the circumstances in which individuals may happen to be placed,--a power which, in most cases, is sufficient to carry a man through and over every obstacle that may happen to be thrown in his path through life, no matter how high or how steep the mountain may be, but which often forsakes him the moment the summit is gained, the point of difficulty passed; and leaves him prostrated, with energies gone, nerves unstrung, and a feeling of incapacity pervading the entire frame that renders the most trifling effort almost impossible.
During the greater part of that day I had been subjected to severe mental and much physical excitement, which had almost crushed me down by the time I was relieved from duty in the course of the evening.

But when the expedition, whose failure has just been narrated, was planned, my anxieties and energies had been so powerfully aroused that I went through the protracted scenes of that terrible night without a feeling of the slightest fatigue.

My mind and body were alike active and full of energy.

No sooner was the last thrilling fear of danger past, however, than my faculties were utterly relaxed; and, when I felt the cool breezes of the Pacific playing around my fevered brow, and heard the free waves rippling at the schooner's prow, as we left the hated island behind us, my senses forsook me and I fell in a swoon upon the deck.
From this state I was quickly aroused by Bill, who shook me by the arm, saying,-- "Hallo! Ralph, boy, rouse up, lad, we're safe now.

Poor thing, I believe he's fainted." And raising me in his arms he laid me on the folds of the gaff-top-sail, which lay upon the deck near the tiller.