Suddenly Jack espied a great mass of green hemp piled off in one corner, ready to be raked out on the iron roof for drying when the sun arose.
“We can put that under our feet,” he said, “and stick it out a while longer that way.”
So tenacious is the instinct of clinging to life, that even though they knew it would only avert the end by a very short time,—unless a miracle came to aid them,—they adopted Jack’s idea.
But before long the hemp began to smoke and steam. The heat was rapidly drying out the moisture, and then——
Suddenly one of the sailors gave a yell, and shouting,—“I’m going to end it all right now,” made a plunge for the edge of the roof.
His evident intention was to hurl himself down to death.
But before the crazed man could carry out his plan Captain Andrews sprang at the fellow and brought him down with a crash.
“If Providence means us to die, we’ll meet death like men,” he said stoutly; “but it’s not like Americans to give up the ship while there’s a shred of hope.”
The frenzied sailor fought and struggled on the pile of steaming hemp on which the skipper held him. But Captain Andrews’ strong arms pinned him down.
Jack felt his senses reeling. The hot breath of the fire had reached them by this time. The roof gave off heat like the top of a stove. If it had not been for the damp, green hemp they could not have held the situation for an eighth of the space of time that they did.