I had made a great fire and its light was strong, and there was also the
light of the lanthorn; but the furnace flames played very lively,
completely overmastering the steady illumination of the candle, and the
man's figure was all a-twitch with moving shadows, and a hundred
fantastic shades seemed to steal out of the side and bulkheads and
disappear upon my terrified gaze. Then, thought I, suppose after all
that the man should be alive, the vitality in him set flowing by the
heat? I minded myself of my own simile of the current checked by frost,
yet retaining unimpaired the principle of motion; and getting my
agitation under some small control, I approached the body on tiptoe and
held the lanthorn to its face.
He looked a man of sixty years of age; his beard was grey and very
long, and lay upon his breast like a cloud of smoke. His eyes were
closed; the brows shaggy, and the dark scar of a sword-wound ran across
his forehead from the corner of the left eye to the top of the right
brow. His nose was long and hooked, but the repose in his countenance,
backed by the vague character of the light in which I inspected him,
left his face almost expressionless. I was too much alarmed to put my
ear to his mouth to mark if he breathed, if indeed the noise of the
burning fire would have permitted me to distinguish his respiration. I
drew back from him, and put down the lanthorn and watched him. Thought
I, it will not do to believe there is anything supernatural here. I can
swear there is naught living in this ship, and am I to suppose, assuming
she is haunted, that a ghost, which I have always read and heard of as
an essence, has in its shadowy being such quality of _muscle_ as would
enable it to turn that heavy man over from his side on to his back? No,
no, thought I! depend upon it, either he is alive and may presently come
to himself, or else in some wonderful way the fire in thawing him has so
wrought in his frozen fibres as to cause him to turn.
Presently his left leg, that was slightly bent towards the furnace,
stretched itself out to its full length, and my ear caught a faint
sound, as of a weak and melancholy sigh. Gracious heaven, thought I, he
_is_ alive! and with less of terror than of profound awe, now that I saw
there was nothing of a ghostly or preternatural character in this
business, I approached and bent over him. His eyes were still shut, and
I could not hear that he breathed; there was not the faintest motion of
respiration in his breast nor stir in the hair, that was now soft, about
his mouth. Yet, so far as the light would suffer me to judge, there was
a complexion in his face such as could only come with flowing blood,
however languid its circulation, and putting this and the sigh and the
movement of the leg together, I felt convinced that the man was alive,
and forthwith fell to work, very full of awe and amazement to be sure,
to help nature that was struggling in him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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