he had gone overboard, the sharks would probably have gotten him, for
they were not very far away. Every now and then I had seen their fins
cutting the surface of the water, as they patrolled back and forth,
waiting their time, or ours, as if they knew that it was only a question
of time. Soon John started again to get overboard. This time I punished
him so severely that he did not try it again. After that, I had to keep
my eye on him constantly. His ravings about food were not particularly
soothing to my feelings, for I was as hungry as he, only not so
demonstrative about it.

The seventh day drifted slowly by and the fog still held us captive. For
a week we had had no food, no water, and scarcely any sleep; having our
boots on continuously stopped the circulation in our feet with the same
effect as if they had been frozen; we were chilled to the bone; my boat
mate was insane. Since the whistle of the steamship had died away in the
distance, two days before, no sound had come to us out of the fog but
the voices of the wind and the swash of the waves. I knew the chart of
the Banks and had a general idea as to where we were. There is a great
barren tract on the Banks where few fish are found and fishermen seldom
go, and we had drifted into this man-forsaken place. I had almost said
"God-forsaken" too, but something began to shape itself in my mind about
that time, that makes it difficult for me now to say this. Rather, as I
look back on our experience, I feel more like claiming fellowship with
the "wanderer" who called the place of his hardship "Bethel" because it
was there, at the end of self and of favoring conditions, that he found
God.