ght of the coast, with the assurance of returning to
_terra firma_ whenever he might wish.... But now he had to keep himself
up, completely dressed; his shoes were tugging at him with a constantly
increasing force as though made of iron ... and water on all sides! Not
a boat on the horizon that could come to his aid!... The wireless
operator, surprised by the swiftness of the catastrophe, had not been
able to send out the S.O.S.

He also had to defend himself from the debris of the shipwreck. After
having grasped the raft as his last means of salvation, he had to avoid
the floating casks, rolling toward him on the swelling billows, which
might send him to the bottom with one of their blows.

Suddenly there loomed up between two waves a species of blind monster
that was agitating the waters furiously with the strokes of its
swimming. Upon coming close to it, he saw that it was a man; as it
drifted away, he recognized Uncle Caragol.

He was swimming like a drunken man with a super-human force which made
half of his body come out of the water at each stroke. He was looking
before him as though he could see, as if he had a fixed destination,
without hesitating a moment, yet going further out to sea when he
imagined that he was heading toward the coast.

"_Padre San Vicente!_" he moaned. "_Cristo del Grao!_..."

In vain the captain shouted. The cook could not hear him, and continued
swimming on with all the force of his faith, repeating his pious
invocations between his noisy snortings.

A cask climbed the crest of a wave, rolling down on the opposite side.
The head of the blind swimmer came in its way.... A thudding crash.
_Padre San Vicente!_... And Caragol disappeared with bleeding head and
a mouth full of salt.

Ferragut did not wish to imitate that kind of swimming. The land was
very far off for a man's arms; it would be impossible to reach it. Not
a single one of the ship's boats had remained afloat.... His only hope,
a remote and whimsical one, was that some vessel might discover the
shipwrecked men and save them.

In a little while this hope was almost realized. From the crest of a
wave he could see a black bark, long and low, without smokestack or
mast, that was nosing slowly among the debris. He recognized a
submarine. The dark silhouettes of several men were so plainly visible
that he believed he heard them shouting.----

"Ferragut!... Where is Captain Ferragut?..."

"Ah, no!... Better to die!"

And