The wound had bled very little, but beyond his slow, heavy breathing he gave no sign of life.
On the floor, where he had fallen, I found a seaman's torch, which had been lighted but was now sodden with water.

He had probably dropped it or dragged it in some pool as he made his way into the cave.
And, now that the hot anger and the fear of the man were out of me, and he lay under my hand helpless to do us further harm, I found myself ready to do what I could for him, since, unfortunately, he was not dead.
I took Uncle George at his word and broached one of his little kegs, and found it most excellent French cognac, and mixing some with water in the lid of the can, I prevailed on Carette to drink some too.

We had both been not a little shaken by these happenings, and the fiery life in the spirit pulled us together and braced the slackened ropes.

I dropped a little into Torode also, and it ran down his throat, but he showed no sign of appreciation, and I doubted the fine liquor was wasted.
Then, as there was no chance of sleep, I lit my pipe and found comfort in it, and regretted that Carette had no similar consolation of her own, though I do not take to women smoking as I have seen many of them do abroad.

But there was not even a crust to eat, so we sat and talked in whispers of the very strange fate, or chance, or the leading of God, that had brought Torode to us in this remote place into which we had fled to escape him.
"But, Phil, however did he get here ?" asked Carette.