Slowly the night wore on, and at the first streak of dawn we were both in motion. It seemed a shame to rip up another part of the flooring to make a rudder. Yet there was no help for it. While doing so I noticed that the doors were unusually wet, but gave it no attention, thinking it had been caused by the raft dipping under when the vessel had struck us.
At last we began to get hungry, and Phil hauled some crackers from the provision box.
"They will make us mighty thirsty, and we haven't much water," he said. "But I hadn't time to hunt up just the best things to take along."
We ate our crackers, and when we had finished them I turned to the cask to get some water. I pulled out the bung, and was horrified to discover that the cask was empty!
"The water's gone!" I gasped.
"What!"
"It's true; there isn't a drop in the cask!"
Phil was fully as much dismayed as I was. Alone on the broad Atlantic and not a drop to drink!
"We can't live without water," he cried.
"I know that. It is worse than being without food."