ight, I should now have put the helm up, and
run to leeward, in the hope of finding the spars, and at least of keeping
near Marble; but, fearful of passing him in the darkness, I deferred that
duty until the morning. All I could do was to watch the weather, in order
to make this effort, before the wind should shift.

What a night I passed! As soon as it was dark, I sounded the pumps, and
found six feet water in the hold. It was idle for one man to attempt
clearing a vessel of the Dawn's size; and I gave myself no further thought
in the matter. So much injury had been done the upper works of the ship,
that I had a sort of conviction she must go down, unless fallen in with by
some other craft. I cannot say apprehension for my own fate troubled me
any, or that I thought of the rum to my fortunes that was involved in the
loss of the ship. My mind reverted constantly to my companions; could I
have recovered them, I should have been happy, for a time, at least.

I slept two or three hours, towards morning, overcome will fatigue. When I
awoke, it was in consequence of receiving the sun's rays in my face.
Springing to my feet, I cast a confused and hurried glance around me. The
wind was still at north-east, but it barely blew a good whole-sail breeze.
The sea had gone down, to the regular roll of the ocean; and a finer day
never shone upon the Atlantic. I hurried eagerly on deck, and gazed on the
ocean to leeward, with longing eyes, to ascertain if anything could be
seen of the wreck of our spars. Nothing was visible. From the main-top, I
could command a pretty wide horizon; but the ocean lay a bright,
glittering blank, the crests of its own waves excepted. I felt certain the
Dawn was so weatherly, that the spars were to leeward; but the ship must
have forged miles ahead, during the last twelve hours; and there was
almost the equal certainty of her being a long distance to the southward
of the floating hamper, her head having lain in that direction since the
time she broached-to. To get her off before the wind, then, was my first
concern, after which I could endeavour to force her to the northward,
running the chance of falling in with the spars. Could I find my mate, we
might still die together, which would hove been a melancholy consolation
just then.

Chapter XXII.

Father of all! In every age,
In every clime, adored;
By saint, by savage, or by sage--
Jehovah! Jove! or Lord!

Pope.

Feeling the ne