"I don't see what is going to become of me," he thought. "If assistance does not soon arrive from some quarter, it will be too late. And yet where can I look for aid? Captain Akers, and Joe, are both sound sleepers. Unless that monster should attack them, they may not awaken till daylight. By that time my body will be at the bottom of the Pacific."
The boy gave way entirely to his gloomy forebodings. And there was a good excuse for Nat's apprehension. A swimmer's endurance is not unlimited. He had never tested his powers to the uttermost in the water, but he was pretty sure that if he was still on the surface when day broke that he would be singularly fortunate.
Suddenly something bumped against the lad in the darkness.
Nat gave a cry half of alarm. For one instant he thought of sharks and all that an attack by those ferocious monsters would mean.
The next instant, however, he realized that what had bumped him in the darkness was nothing more nor less than a largish stick of timber. Apparently it had once been a spar on some castaway vessel. But whatever its past history, Nat hailed it with joy. Seizing on it, he buoyed himself up and felt greatly relieved, both mentally and physically. With this support under him, he could remain on the surface much longer than would otherwise have been possible. His spirits rose. Perhaps, after all, he would be saved. The coming of the bit of wood had seemed providential, but Nat, looking about him, now perceived that its coming was not so accidental as it had seemed. The water all about him was thickly strewn with logs and boxes and barrels.
Seemingly he was in some sort of current which had attracted all this miscellaneous flotsam.
All at once the solution occurred to him.
The great Pacific Drift!
He was on the bosom of that mysterious current. This could scarcely be doubted. But the thought brought with it a dismal sense of isolation and depression.
Ships steered clear of the Drift. There was too much debris floating on its surface to suit them.