ould have
foundered undoubtedly.

The clouds seemed to press the ocean, confining the view to less than
half a mile in any direction. The sea was a tumbling mass of gray,
seething billows, that tossed the yawl at pleasure hither and thither,
the rag of sail barely sufficing to keep her head to windward.

Ralph had endured the terrors of the night without a murmur. But he
had been aboard the yawl now about five days on a diet of bread and
water. Nature was giving way under the strain.

As he gazed around on the angry scene, where no sign of relenting on
the part of the storm was evident, he turned to Duff and fixed on him a
hopeless look.

"I don't think I can stand it much longer, sir," he said.

The mate's plight was almost as bad; indeed his wound was worse than
Ralph's. But he was tougher; he had been shipwrecked twice previously.

"Lad," he replied, somewhat sternly, "never give up as long as you can
bat an eye. That's my doctrine."

And he looked it; so did Ralph a moment later, nor did the boy complain
again.

All that weary day they fought a losing battle against wind and wave,
and when night once more closed in without any sign of clearing
weather, the hearts of both were at the lowest ebb of hope. Had the
gale increased they must inevitably have been swamped.

Along about two bells in the first night watch the mate, who had never
uttered one word of complaint, groaned aloud.

"Give--me--water," he faltered. "I--I----" And he sank forward
against Ralph, and from there to the boat's bottom, where he lay
apparently insensible from exhaustion and pain.

The boy seized the tiller, or the yawl, broaching, would have shipped a
fatal sea. There was nothing to do but to hold to his post; so after
throwing a blanket over Duff he turned his attention to the boat,
keeping the shred of sail taut, and the bow as much to windward as
possible.

Later on he nodded, but found on awaking that the wind was decreasing.
This cheered him into renewed activity for a time, then he fell asleep
again, and so continued, with brief interludes of wakefulness, until he
felt himself sinking from the seat he had held so long. Once he
fancied he caught a gleam of stars; and it seemed that a stillness was
pervading the air as the whistle of the wind died into melancholy
murmurings. After that he remembered nothing more until a voice
penetrated his brain like a trump of doom.

He started up, but fell back weakly. The