wind and fog. The fifth day we heard the whistle of an ocean steamship.
"We can surely head this one off," we thought, but she quickly passed
us, too far away to see or hear. It was a bitter disappointment as this
floating hotel, full of warmth, food, water, shelter and companionship,
for the lack of each and all of which we were perishing, rushed by, so
near, yet unconscious and unheeding, in too great a hurry to stop and
listen to our cry for help. I have thought of this since, as I have
hurried along with the crowd in the street of a great city and wondered,
if we stopped to listen, what cry might come to us out of the deep.

The fifth night the sea was running high. We were drifting with a trawl
tub fastened to the "painter" as a drag to keep the boat headed to the
wind, when it began to rain. I spread my oil jacket to catch the water,
and we waited until we could collect enough for a drink, watching the
drops eagerly, as we had tasted neither food nor water since leaving the
vessel five days before. Just as we were about to drink, however, our
boat shipped a sea, filling the oil jacket with salt water, and there
was no more rain.

Every day we passed great flocks of sea fowl floating on the water,
coming frequently almost within an oar's length, but always just out of
reach. We were in worse condition than the Ancient Mariner, with food as
well as water everywhere about us, and not a morsel or a drop to eat or
drink. Thirst is harder to endure than hunger, and yet hunger finally
wakes up the wolf; and the time comes when even the thought of
cannibalism can be entertained without horror. About this time John
asked me, "Well, what do you think?"

"Oh," I said, "I think that one of us will come out of it all right."