Gentleman says
You must not despair so. I, too, might whine a prayer of protest: Oh God, God! After twenty years of incessant grind, day after weary day, I started on my first vacation. I was going home. And here I sit dying slow degrees, desolate and forsaken. Is this the meaning of all my years of labor?
Is this the end, oh God? So I might wail with equal justice. But the blind sky will not answer your appeals or mine. Nor will the cruel sea grow merciful for any prayer of ours. I have not given up hope.
These seas, I have heard, are full of coral islands and we surely ought to drift near one of them soon. It was probably an uncharted coral reef that our steamer hit.
I heard someone say “derelict” but I saw no sign of one in the water. With us it is only a question of whether we can hold out until we sight land.
Water would save us — just a little water — even a few drops would be enough.
God, if we only had a little water!