own, and so we thrust the bread
in our breeches pockets and set to work, heaving everything overboard
that might lighten us, and for ever a-straining our eyes to sight a
ship. Then we set to devising means to make the sheet cling over the
damaged planks, but to little purpose, and so Dawson essayed to get at
it from the inside by going below, but the water was risen so high there
was no room between it and the deck to breathe, and so again to wedging
the canvas in from the outside till the sun sank. And by that time the
water was beginning to lap up through the hatchway. Then no longer able
to blink the truth, Jack turns to me and asks:

"How long shall we last?"

"Why," says I, "we have sunk no more than a foot these last six hours,
and at this slow pace we may well last out eight or nine more ere the
water comes over the bulwarks."

He shook his head ruefully, and, pointing to a sluice hole in the side,
said he judged it must be all over with us when the water entered there.

"Why, in that case," says I, "let us find something to fill the sluice
hole."

So having nothing left on deck, we went into the cabin on a pretence of
seeing how Moll fared, and Jack sneaked away an old jacket and I a stone
bottle, and with these we stopped the sluice hole the best we could.

By the time we had made a job of this 'twas quite dark, and having
nothing more to do but to await the end, we stood side by side, too
dejected to speak for some time, thinking of the cruelty of fate which
rescued us from one evil only to plunge us in a worse. At length, Jack
fell to talking in a low tone of his past life, showing how things had
ever gone ill with him and those he loved.

"I think," says he in conclusion, "I am an unlucky man, Kit. One of
those who are born to be a curse against their will to others rather
than a blessing."

"Fie, Jack," says I, "'tis an idle superstition."

"Nay," says he, "I am convinced 'tis the truth. Not one of us here but
would have been the happier had I died a dozen years ago. 'Tis all
through me that we drown to-night."

"Nay, 'tis a blessing that we die all together, and none left to mourn."

"That may be for you and me who have lived the best years of our life,
but for those in there but just tasting the sweets of life, with years
of joy unspent, 'tis another matter."

Then we were silent for a while, till feeling the water laving my feet,
I asked if we should not now tell Mr. Godwin of our conditio