into the shining, welcoming waters. . . .
On an early afternoon—for the sun was high in the heavens—he emerged from the sea into the shallows of that sandy beach where he had awakened to amphibian existence seemingly ages ago. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself upon the warm sand. He was very weary, for he had finished an enormous swim, away from the scene of a fearful combat which he had waged with a now dimly remembered monster of the great deeps of the warm sea. His companion, who, during these long, dimly remembered eras, had been dear to him, was gone. She had succumbed in the direful struggle with the sea-beast. His heartache transcended the immediate painfulness and fatigue of his bruised and weary body.
He had had his vengeance, though. Beside her body lay that of the sea-beast, crustaceous, horrible, slain by him after a titanic struggle, mangled in the imponderable ooze. . . .
He rested at last, prone upon the yielding, sun-soaked sand. The insistent light of the glaring sun troubled him, and he moved impatiently. A vague murmur, too, was disturbingly apparent. He decided, wearily, to shift his position to the nearby shade of a palm grove. He turned over, slowly, painfully.
Then the light from the sun smote his eyes, attuned to the cool dimness of the sea-deeps, and as he moved towards the palms he raised a hand to his brow. That disquieting murmur took form abruptly, became intelligible. It seemed, somehow, to take on the familiarity of a remembered human voice. He lowered his hand, puzzled, disturbed, and found himself looking at an electric-light bulb. In its light he saw three men sitting on a leather sofa. He rose on his elbow, still painfully, for he was very weary after that dire combat, and peered at them. He now fixed his dazed stare on Matthews, who was in the middle of the row, and mumbled some incoherent words. The man seated at the end of the sofa rose hastily, and came towards him. He saw that it was Hegeman, the Barbadian’s doctor.
“Back awake, eh?” It was Hegeman’s cheerful voice. The doctor placed a hand on Hewitt’s pulse. “You’ll do,” he announced confidently.
Matthews was standing beside the doctor. Over Matthews’ shoulder Hewitt could see, peering, the spectacled face of the salesman. Matthews was speaking:
“We were through the Gulf Stream a day ago, and the sun’s out. It was a narrow squeak! Old Baird should have the Board of Trade medal for getting you. Thought you’d never come up!”
“A bit battered but right as rain, what!” The Englishman had added his word of cheer.
“You’ll be on your pins in a day or two,” said the doctor. “Keep still for the present.” Hewitt nodded. He did not want to talk. He had too much to get settled in his mind. Those experiences! Or what seemed to be experiences, the chimeras of the unconscious mind.
“One of the stewards saw you go,” added Hegeman. “Two of your teeth are chipped, where you clamped your jaws to hold your breath. Plucky thing to do. It saved your life.
Hewitt held out a heavy hand. The doctor took it and placed it gently by his side. “Go back to sleep,” he ordered, and the three filed out.
***
During the remainder of the voyage Hewitt slowly recovered from the severe shock of
