“Hardly enough light to read her name; wait until morning, and I’ll tell you what she is, and where she hails from.”
Harry was about to ask more, but the captain moved away in the darkness, leaving him alone.
He remained on deck, watching the fitful twinkling of the point of light, as it rose to view on the crest of a wave, and then dipped out of sight again, and speculating as to what the night and following day would bring forth.
But, as the night advanced, he thought there was very little if any increase in the fury of the gale, and he descended into the cabin, where Captain Cole had placed a hammock at his disposal.
Here he committed his soul in fervent prayer to God, and then lay down without removing any of his garments; for he had no expectation of sleep, and had little hope that he would be permitted to remain undisturbed until the rising of the morrow’s sun.
CHAPTER XVII.
WHAT OF THE NIGHT?
Harry Northend had been through many perils and trying scenes in the wilderness of the North-west; but just now he felt more wretched from physical fear than ever before.
It was useless for him to lie upon his hammock, and he only did so because he had nothing else to do. Finally he leaped down upon the floor, and taking a seat upon the bench, concluded to sit out the night.
The lantern swinging from the roof threw a dim, yellow glare through the cabin, and, as he mechanically looked up, he saw a half-dozen life-preservers dangling beside it. They were made of cork, and were the same as he had often seen upon the Mississippi steamers.
Unfastening one of the useful articles, he carefully fastened it beneath his shoulders, and then resuming his seat, waited as the terrible moments dragged slowly by.