When he had gone as far as he deemed prudent he would turn upon his back and thus float upon the bosom of the great deep, borne by its ceaseless tide he knew not whither.
Perhaps he was being carried further and further out to sea, or it might be he was slowly approaching the shore of the southern continent.
That was the longest, most gloomy night Jack North ever knew. He saw nor heard nothing of the steamer during the long hours of darkness and desolation.
With the first faint streak of daylight he scanned the surrounding sea with anxious, eager gaze. But whither he would look, north, south, east or west, not an object broke the monotony of the view.
He felt that he was hopelessly lost, and he wondered in his despair if his true fate would be known.
As it grew lighter he continued to watch the sea for some welcome sight, until he saw, away on his left, a dark rim on the horizon. Was it a cloud or--land?
He dared not hope it was the latter at first, but as it grew plainer he felt a thrill of joy pass through his worn-out frame.
“Land!” he cried, coming near drowning in the exuberance of his new-found discovery.
Even after he had seen land it seemed he was doomed to disappointment.
It did not appear that he had strength to reach it. Still the prospect ahead served to give power to his weary limbs and a new lease of endurance to his overworked body.