“If we last long enough,” added Fred dolefully.
In parts of their bodies they had absolutely no feeling, and again and again they were forced to fight off that insidious drowsiness that crept upon them like a thief in the dark.
They knew, for they had read enough about persons dying from exposure, that once they succumbed to the desire for sleep it would be all over for them.
They must keep going, keep their muscles active and the blood circulating in their veins. Some way they must keep their heavy eyes open.
And then suddenly it seemed to them as though things had changed, the waves, the very air seemed different, charged with a new menace.
As though driven by a common thought they looked upward at the sky—and felt snow flakes on their faces!
Snowing! They were running headfirst into a storm—one of those terrific arctic blizzards, perhaps. It was not imagination, either, that made them think the waves were higher, that the wind was rising.
One incoming, ice-laden comber struck the side of their boat, listing it crazily to starboard. There was a sharp cry from Bobby—a cry of such utter surprise and dismay that it made the hearts of his hearers stand still.
“The compass!” shouted Bobby, above the rising wind. “I’ve lost it overboard! It’s gone!”