"We will have to live on closer mess than ever," I said, as I viewed the stuff.
"I won't mind that so long as we have enough to drink," returned Phil. "I can stand hunger, but I can't stand being dry."
"You're not very dry now," said I, with a faint attempt at humor.
The cabin boy gave a laugh.
"I don't mean that way. Guess our clothes will dry fast enough when the sun gets up."
The morning proved a long and warm one. We did all we could to pass the time pleasantly, but it was a failure. There was no concealing the fact that we were both anxious about our situation.
It must not be supposed that because I write so calmly of this involuntary cruise that we were not frightened, for such is not a fact. Both of us were greatly alarmed, and would have given about all we owned to be once more on dry land.
About every hour one or the other of us would climb up to the top of the mast and look in all directions for a sail or land. This we did until we were almost ready to give it up, as nothing appeared.
Our dinner was a curious one, some potted beef and cold green corn, washed down with a cup of cold water.
