The lost man gave a shriek of joy; so prone are we to interpret things
hopefully.

Misery! The next time he saw that little light, that solitary spark of
hope, it was not quite so near as before. A mortal sickness fell on his
heart. The ship had recalled the boats by rocket.

He shrieked, he cried, he screamed, he raved. "Oh, Rosa! Rosa! for her
sake, men, men, do not leave me. I am here! here!"

In vain. The miserable man saw the boat's little light retire, recede,
and melt into the ship's larger light, and that light glided away.

Then, a cold, deadly stupor fell on him. Then, death's icy claw seized
his heart, and seemed to run from it to every part of him. He was a dead
man. Only a question of time. Nothing to gain by floating.

But the despairing mind could not quit the world in peace, and even here
in the cold, cruel sea, the quivering body clung to this fragment of
life, and winced at death's touch, though more merciful.

He despised this weakness; he raged at it; he could not overcome it.

Unable to live or to die, condemned to float slowly, hour by hour, down
into death's jaws.

To a long, death-like stupor succeeded frenzy. Fury seized this great
and long-suffering mind. It rose against the cruelty and injustice of
his fate. He cursed the world, whose stupidity had driven him to sea,