e whole boat, the pain in his broken thumb gnawed incessantly
like a rat. From time to time he stared listlessly about him, looking at
the dark sky, the tumbling ocean, and the crowded groups in the
plunging, rolling lifeboat.

There was nothing picturesque about it all, nothing heroic. It was
unlike any pictures he had seen of lifeboat rescues, unlike anything he
had ever imagined. It was all sordid, miserable, and the sight of the
half-clad women, dirty, sodden, unkempt, stirred him rather to disgust
than to pity.

At last the dawn came and grew white over a world of tumbling green
billows and scudding wrack. Some three miles distant, seen only when the
boat topped a higher wave, the same procession of bleached hills moved
gradually to the south under the fog, their feet covered by the white
line of the surf. Not far behind in the wake of the boat the stern of
the _Mazatlan_ rose out of a ring of white foam, the waves breaking over
her as if she had been there for ages, the screw writhing its flanges
into the air like some enormous starfish already fastened upon the hulk.

One of the other boats could be seen now and then between them and the
shore, a momentary dot of black on the vast blur of green and gray.

There was no conversation; the men relieved each other at the oars or
bailed out the water with their caps and hands, scarcely interchanging a
word. The only utterance was an occasional moaning from among the women
and children. There was nothing to eat; long since the two whisky flasks
had been exhausted. The rain fell steadily into the sea with a prolonged
rippling noise.

Vandover was leaning upon the gunwale of the boat, his head buried in
his arms, when suddenly he raised himself and asked of the man who sat
next to him:

"What was the matter last night? What caused the accident?"

The other shook his head, wearily, turning away again. However, the
engineer answered:

"We couldn't carry coal enough to keep up the right pressure of steam
and drifted in upon a reef. I said once before that it would happen some
time."

About an hour later Vandover dropped off to sleep, in spite of the cold,
the wet, and the torment in his thumb. He dozed and woke, and dozed
again all through the morning. About noon he was awakened by a more
violent rolling of the boat, the sound of voices, and a stir among the
other passengers.

It was still raining; the boat was no longer cutting the waves with her
nose, but was