Then, in the very height of their sufferings, a storm of rain came on which half filled the boat with water, giving them plenty to drink, but spoiling the remainder of their fish, so that they had to throw them overboard.
After the rain the wind sprang up again, and the sail was once more hoisted, David trying to keep the boat as nearly in the direction of the coast of South Africa as he could guess, during the day steering by the sun; but at night she went as the breeze willed, and so it continued for days, the boys getting weaker and weaker through starvation, although they had saved plenty of water in their cask to assuage the pangs of thirst, during which time they never saw a bird or a fish to which they could get near.
They sighted several ships, but they were too far off to attract their notice; and when, finally, a sudden squall in the night blew away their mast and sail, and left them tossing helplessly on the ocean, starving and worn out with fatigue, they gave up all hope, and lay down in the bottom of the boat to die—Jonathan being the first to succumb.
“Good-bye, Dave!” said he, raising himself with a feeble effort.
“Good-bye, Jonathan!” said the other, grasping his companion’s hand, as he thought, for the last time.
“I think I am going to die,” continued Jonathan: “my head is spinning round, and I feel faint. I will lie down a bit until the end comes. Good-bye, Dave, once more!”
And he sank down again into a restless sleep, the other following his example a moment or two afterwards; first giving one last haggard glance around the horizon—on which not a single sail appeared in sight—as if bidding it an eternal farewell.