After hours and hours of this wild pitching and rushing upon the crests of high, rolling seas, the motion began to get easier, and I noticed that the wind was rapidly falling. The crests no longer broke with the furious rush and tumble as formerly. Then the gray light of dawn came, and I began to see about us.
The form of the girl lay alongside me, lashed to the platform. Her hair trailed into the sea in long tresses from her head, and her face was white as chalk. I thought she was dead, and shook her to see if there was any life to stir up. She lay limp. I took her hand and felt the wrist. A slight pulse told of the vital spark still burning. It seemed brutal to arouse her, to bring her back to the horror of her position. But I felt that it was best. I called to her, and she finally opened her eyes. She shivered, placed one arm under her, and then raised herself painfully into a sitting posture.
"Cut the cord around my wrist, will you, please?" she said. "I promise not to fall off."
"Better let it stay," I said. "I'll loose it so you can move about a little. Seems like they missed us in the dark."
"Well, do you still think they'll pick us up? See; it's light now, the sun is coming up. I don't know as I care very much. Do you?"
"Sure I care. Why not? We'll be all right soon."
She let her head fall forward, and gave a little sob; just a bit of a cry.
"Well, then I'm glad I pulled you out of the water," she said. "Seems like we might just as well have gone during the night. Do you really think it's worth struggling for like this? Life is good—and I want to live—but this is too hard—too terrible—and my poor mother——"
"We'll be picked up before breakfast, sure," I said. "The boats must have drifted just the same as ourselves. Something'll come along soon."
And yet deep down in me I knew that this was a bare chance. We were out of the track of ships, well off shore for the coasters, and not far enough for the Bermuda ships, like the Rathbone, which had stopped at the island on her way north.