from any
other cause. The sea remained perfectly calm, the sun sank down, and
darkness reigned over the ocean. It was their first night on the raft.
Who could say how many more they might have to spend on it? Devereux
did his best to keep up the courage of his men, but in spite of all he
could say, the spirits of many sank low. He encouraged them to tell
stories, to narrate their adventures, to sing songs, and he himself took
every opportunity of talking of the future, and spoke confidently of
what he would do when they should reach the shore. Paul felt very
unhappy. He was hungry and thirsty, and that alone lowers the spirits.
The men were grouped round their officers in the centre of the raft.
Paul was sitting near Reuben.

"I don't think that I shall ever live through this," he said, taking his
friend's hand. "You are strong, Reuben, and you may weather it out. If
you do, you'll go and tell my poor mother and sisters how it all
happened and what became of me. Tell them that if I had lived I might,
perhaps, have been placed on the quarter-deck and become a captain or an
admiral; but that dream is all over now."

"As to that being a dream, a dream it is, Paul," said Reuben; "but as to
your living and turning out a good seaman, I've no fear about that, my
boy," he added cheerfully. "You see, there's One above cares for us,
and if we pray to Him He'll send us help."

The night passed on, the stars shone brightly down from the pure sky,
the waters flashed with phosphorescence, the inhabitants of the deep
came up to the surface to breathe, while not a breath of air ruffled the
face of the ocean. Except two appointed to keep watch, all on the raft
soon sank into a deep sleep. They were awoke by the hot sun beating
down on their heads; then they again wished for night. As the rays of
the sun came down with fiercer force their thirst increased, but no one
asked for more than his small share of water. Those only who have
endured thirst know the intensity of the suffering it causes. Devereux
had no more able supporter than Alphonse, who had saved his well-beloved
violin. The moment the young Frenchman saw that the spirits of the
people were sinking, he pulled it from its case, and putting it to his
chin, began scraping away with right good will; now a merry, now a
pathetic air. The excitable state of the nerves of the seamen was shown
by the effect he produced. On hearing the merry tunes they burst into
sho