He laughed at his own remark.
At last Tom and I did as he advised us; indeed, we couldn’t keep our eyes open longer, for we had had no sleep, lashed as we had been to the bulwarks on the previous night.
We both of us slept on right through the night. I awoke with a weary heart-sinking feeling. Dawn was already casting a grey light over the still troubled ocean. Clouds hung thickly overhead; the seas seemed to reach them as they rose up on either side.
There sat Nettleship, wide awake, his hand on the tiller, his eyes wearing a pained expression, as well they might, looking round watching the waves as they hissed up, threatening to overwhelm us. No one was speaking. Most of the men sat with their arms folded and their heads bent down, still fast asleep. I believe that Nettleship had been the only one awake among us during the night.
“The wind has fallen, and the sea has gone down considerably, Paddy,” he said, looking at me. “Cheer up, lad; we shall save our lives after all, I believe.”
Tom, hearing him speak, awoke.
“I wish you would let me take the helm, Nettleship,” he said.
“No, no, Tom! The responsibility is too much to impose on you; I’ll let Hunt steer presently.”
First one man woke up, then another, and another; but they all looked round with lack-lustre eyes and gloomy countenances. After some time, Tom shouted out that there was a break in the clouds to the eastward.
Just then a ray of bright light streamed across the ocean, tinging the foam-topped seas with a ruddy hue.