the lost route, as nearly as he could
make it out, and increase their chance of rescue. He rigged an awning
of sailcloth over the suffering man and tended him like a son, comforted
the wife, and tried to make the pale girl forget herself, by singing
every song he knew or recounting his adventures by land and sea, till
she smiled and took heart; for all ended well.

The fourth day came and the supply of food and water was nearly gone.
Emil proposed to keep it for the sick man and the women, but two of the
men rebelled, demanding their share. Emil gave up his as an example, and
several of the good fellows followed it, with the quiet heroism which so
often crops up in rough but manly natures. This shamed the others,
and for another day an ominous peace reigned in that little world of
suffering and suspense. But during the night, while Emil, worn out with
fatigue, left the watch to the most trustworthy sailor, that he might
snatch an hour's rest, these two men got at the stores and stole the
last of the bread and water, and the one bottle of brandy, which was
carefully hoarded to keep up their strength and make the brackish water
drinkable. Half mad with thirst, they drank greedily and by morning one
was in a stupor, from which he never woke; the other so crazed by
the strong stimulant, that when Emil tried to control him, he leaped
overboard and was lost. Horror-stricken by this terrible scene, the
other men were submissive henceforth, and the boat floated on and on
with its sad freight of suffering souls and bodies.

Another trial came to them that left all more despairing than before. A
sail appeared, and for a time a frenzy of joy prevailed, to be turned
to bitterest disappointment when it passed by, too far away to see
the signals waved to them or hear the frantic cries for help that rang
across the sea. Emil's heart sank then, for the captain seemed dying,
and the women could not hold out much longer. He kept up till night
came; then in the darkness, broken only by the feeble murmuring of the
sick man, the whispered prayers of the poor wife, the ceaseless swash of
waves, Emil hid his face, and had an hour of silent agony that aged him
more than years of happy life could have done. It was not the physical
hardship that daunted him, though want and weakness tortured him; it was
his dreadful powerlessness to conquer the cruel fate that seemed hanging
over them. The men he cared little for, since these perils were but a