It was not from hunger we suffered so much as from thirst. That was terrible. Hour after hour passed by. No relief appeared. I began almost to wish that I had laid my head down alongside my poor friend and old shipmate, Delisle, in the desolate savannah near Ou Trou. The thought was wrong--rank ingratitude to the merciful providence which had preserved me--but it was human, I fear. How admirably our gallant fellows behaved! Scarcely a murmur or a grumble was heard. Again the sun went down. That night was one of great suffering among many of the crew. Some tried to keep up their own spirits and those of their messmates by singing and cutting jokes and telling stories. Still it would not do. They soon broke down. The surgeons kept going about, administering stimulants to those who appeared sinking, but their store of medicine was soon exhausted, and they could do no more. Day came again, but no relief was brought us. I with others climbed aloft. Not a sail was in sight. In vain--in vain we scanned the horizon, the calm continued, and the ships floated idly on the smooth, sullen, treacherous water. Yet who that could by any possibility have seen those two fine, well-appointed men-of-war would have supposed that so much suffering, alarm, and dread existed on board them! Death had not yet visited us, but we could not tell when he would commence his work of destruction. Any moment he might begin to strike, and we knew that he would not cease till he had made an end of all. The men were piped to divisions, but scarcely an attempt was made to find employment for them. They lay listlessly along the decks, some could scarcely walk. The voices of the officers, as they issued their orders, sounded hollow and strange. I felt sure that many would not last out another day. The hours still drew slowly on, without bringing us any relief. Captain Packenham had retired to his cabin to conceal the pain he was suffering. The first lieutenant and I still kept the deck, but I began to feel that I must soon go below, or I should fall where I stood. The greater part of the crew were completely prostrate. Some few of the stronger men continued every now and then to go aloft to take a look-out round the horizon, to learn if any sail were in sight. I turned to my brother-officer-- "What think you, Staunton, of our prospects?" said I. "The Jamaica fleet ought to be here by this time," he answered. "But if they have been delayed, or have already passed or steered another course, what are we to do?" I urged. "Starve to death," he answered, in a hollow voice. "A day--a few hours--will settle the point."