CHAPTER XLIII.
JANUARY 11th to 14th .-- Owen's convulsions returned with increased violence, and in the course of the night he expired in terrible agony.
His body was thrown overboard almost directly; it had decomposed so rapidly that the flesh had not even consistency enough for any fragments of it to be reserved for the boatswain to use to bait his lines.

A plague the man had been to us in his life; in his death he was now of no service! And now, perhaps, still more than ever, did the horror of our situation stare us in the face.

There was no doubt that the poisoned barrel had at some time or other contained copperas; but what strange fatality had converted it into a water-cask, or what fatality, stranger still, had caused it to be brought on board the raft, was a problem that none could solve.

Little, however, did it matter now: the fact was evident; the barrel was poisoned, and of water we had not a drop.
One and all, we fell into the gloomiest silence.

We were too irritable to bear the sound of each other's voices; and it did not require a word, a mere look or gesture was enough, to provoke us to anger that was little short of madness.