Most of them had their eyes wide open, and seemed to stare at Zeb and wriggle about in the stir of the sea as if they lived.
Spent and wretched as he was, it lifted his hair.

He almost called out to them at first, and then he dragged his gaze off them, and turned it to the right.

The survivor still clung here, and Zeb--who had been vaguely wondering how on earth he contrived to keep his seat and yet hold on by the rope without being torn limb from limb--now discovered this end of the mast to be so tightly jammed and tangled against the wreck as practically to be immovable.

The man's face was about as scaring as the corpses'; for, catching sight of Zeb, he betrayed no surprise, but only looked back wistfully over his left shoulder, while his blue lips worked without sound.

At least, Zeb heard none.
He waited while they plunged again and emerged, and then, drawing breath, began to pull himself along towards the stranger.