slowly there came back memory of where we were, of what grave peril surrounded us, of my own responsibility.  My eyes sought to pierce the gloom of the night, only to gain glimpses of black water heaving and tumbling on every side, the boat flung high on a whitened crest, and then hurled into the hollow beneath, as though it was a mere chip in the grasp of the sea.  The skill of Watkins alone kept us afloat, and even his iron muscles must be strained to the limit.  Forward the boat was a mere smudge, the men curled up asleep and no longer visible.  All that stood out with any distinctness of outline was the lug sail, stiff as a board.  I endeavored to turn my head, without disturbing the slumbering girl, to gain view of the steersman.

“How is she making it, Watkins?”

“A little stiff, sir, but she’s a staunch boat.  The sea’s likely to go down after sunup.”

“Well, you’ve had long enough trick—­call one of the men aft.  I’m not strong enough yet for that job.”

“No, sir,” and I caught the echo of a chuckle, “and yer have yer arms full.  I kin hold on yere till daylight; ’twon’t be long now.”

“Make one of them help; who is the best man?”

“Schmitt for this sorter job.”

I called him, and growling to himself at being awakened, the Dutchman crept past cautiously and wedged himself in beside Watkins.  There was a few words of controversy between the two men, but in the end Schmitt held the steering oar and a few minutes later Watkins had slipped down into the boat’s bottom and was sound asleep.  And so the gray dawn found us.

CHAPTER XXVI

A FLOATING COFFIN

The laboring boat rested so low in the water it was only as we were thrown upward on the crest of a wave that I could gain any view about through the pallid light of the dawn.  At such brief instants my eyes swept the far horizon, to discern nothing except the desolate, endless expanse of sea.  A more dismal, gloomy view surely never unrolled itself before the eye of man.  Everywhere the gray monotony of rolling waves, slowly stretching out into greater distance as the light strengthened, yet bringing into view no other object.  It was all a desolate, restless waste in the midst of which we tossed, while above hung masses of dark clouds obscuring the sky.  We were but a hurtling speck between the gray above and the gray below.  How tiny the boat looked as my glance ranged forward with this memory of our surroundings still fresh in mind.  The crest of the surges swept to the edge of the gunwale, sending the spray flying inboard.  Occasionally drops stung my cheek and all the thwarts forward were wet with drizzle.  The negro, Sam, alone was awake, baling steadily, his face turned aft, although scarcely glancing up from his labor.  He looked tired and worn, a strange green tinge to his black face, as the dim light struck it.  The others were curled up in the bottom of the craft, soaked with spray, yet sleeping soundly.  The wind had lost its steadiness, coming now in gusts that flapped the sail loudly against the mast, but failed to awaken the slumberers.  Depressed by the sight, my eyes sought the face of the girl whose head yet rested against my shoulder.