alone against the
sky-line was occasionally visible. Doubtless they must have been
washed overboard when the vessel turned turtle. There was some heavy
ballast in the schooner besides the barrels of flour and other
supplies in her hold. Her deck also was loaded with freight, and alas,
the ship's boat was lashed down to the deck with strong gripes beneath
a lot of it. Moreover, it was on the starboard side, and away down
under water anyhow. Though every moment he was expecting the Leading
Light to make her last long dive, his courage never for a second
deserted him.

He remembered that there was a new boat on the counter aft which he
was carrying with him for one of his dealers. She was not lashed
either, except that her painter was fast to a stanchion. It was just
possible that she might still be afloat, riding to the schooner as a
sea anchor. Still clinging to the rail he peered and peered through
the darkness, only to see the great white mainsail now and again
gleam ghostlike in the dim light when the super-incumbent water foamed
over it, as the Leading Light wallowed in the sullen seas. Then
something dark rose against the sky away out beyond the peak end of
the gaff--something black looming up on the crest of a mighty comber.
An uncanny feeling crept over him. Yet what else could it be but the
boat? But what could that boat be doing out there? Fascinated, he kept
glaring out in that direction. Yes, surely, there it flashed again
across the sky-line. This time he was satisfied that it was the boat,
and that she was afloat and partly protected by the breakwater formed
by the schooner's hull. She was riding splendidly. In an instant he
recalled that he had given her a new long painter; and that somehow
she must have been thrown clear when the ship turned over. Anyhow, she
was his only chance for life. Get her he must, and get her at once.
Every second spelt less chance of success. Any moment she might break
adrift or be dragged down by the sinking schooner. And then came the
horrible memory that she too had been stowed on the lee side, and her
painter also was under the mainsail and fastened now several feet
below the surface. Even the sail itself was under water, and the sea
breaking in big rushes over it with every comber that came along.

To get the boat was surely impossible. It only added to the horror of
the plight to perish there miserably of cold, thinking of home and of
the loved ones peacefully asleep so ne