could do it we might paddle on shore somewhere, and we
should, at all events, have no fear of starving."

"We'll try what can be done," answered Cousin Silas, slipping off into
the water, and we following his example. "All ready now--heave away."
We hove in vain. The sail, and something else heavy, which had got foul
of the rigging, prevented us righting her.

"We must give it up, I fear," cried Burkett at last. "The oars went
adrift, I fear; and as we have no hats among us, we should have nothing
to bail her out with."

As it happened, we all wore light sea-caps, which would have helped us
very little in getting rid of the water. With sad hearts we had to
abandon the attempt, and again to climb up into our places, considerably
exhausted with the efforts we had made. Night was now coming on
rapidly, and the darkness which grew round us much increased the horrors
of opposition.

"One thing I have to tell you," said Burkett,--"there is always a light
kept burning at the station. If we sight it, we shall know whereabouts
we are, and be able to calculate our chances of reaching the shore."

This, however, I thought very poor consolation. The light could be of
no use to us unless the tide took us near enough to it to allow of our
voices being heard on shore. Fortunately we could still distinguish the
dim outline of the coast as we drifted by, or we should not have known
in what direction to look out for the expected light. Cousin Silas said
very little--he was anxiously looking out for the beacon, to us of such
vital importance. How dreadful, indeed, was our situation! I dared not
think--I dared not hope to escape--still I dared not turn my eye to the
future. I waited with a sort of apathetic indifference to the result.
No light appeared; the current was evidently setting us through the
centre of the passage out to sea, in the direction of that
storm-surrounded promontory, Cape Horn. We must abandon even the remote
prospect of being drifted on shore on one of the southern portions of
the Falklands. For some time there was a complete silence among us. It
was broken by Cousin Silas.

"My friends," said he, in a calm, grave tone, but without a sign of
agitation, "has it occurred to you that we may soon be called upon to
die? Are you prepared for death? Are you ready to stand in the
presence of the Judge of all the earth?"

No one answered him. What were their thoughts I do not know. Mine were
very ter