Soon
after this he absolutely spoke. "O, I want you to get me well! I want
to get away from here!" in a groaning and moaning utterance. The
surgeon's question had revived him, but to no purpose; for, being told
that the Consul had come to see him, and asked whether he had anything to
communicate, he said only, "O, I want him to get me well!" and the whole
life that was left in him seemed to be unwillingness to die. This did
not last long; for he soon relapsed into his first state, only with his
face a little more pinched and screwed up, and his eyes strangely sunken.
And lost in his head; and the surgeon said that there would be no use in
my remaining. So I took my leave. Mr. Wilding had brought a deposition
of the man's evidence, which he had clearly made at the Consulate, for
him to sign, and this we left with the surgeon, in case there should be
such an interval of consciousness and intelligence before death as to
make it possible for him to sign it. But of this there is no
probability.
I have just received a note from the hospital, stating that the sailor,
Daniel Smith, died about three quarters of an hour after I saw him.
May 18th.--The above-mentioned Daniel Smith had about him a bundle of
letters, which I have examined. They are all very yellow, stained with
sea-water, smelling of bad tobacco-smoke, and much worn at the folds.
Never were such ill-written letters, nor such incredibly fantastic
spelling.
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