tempted to drink of the salty water, but resisted, knowing full well that if he did so, his thirst would be tenfold increased.
Where would it end?
Over and over again he asked himself that question without being able to devise an answer. Would not some friendly sail appear, or some tiny coral island—one of those many of which the missionary had spoken? Thinking of Mr. Wells made him think of the Columbia. Surely, surely, his friends on board of her would not desert him. But then his cheeks blanched as he thought of the storm and the fire. Had the gallant craft fallen a prey to one or the other, after all? It might be, for ships had been struck by lightning and gone down before.
Towards noon, with the fierce sun directly overhead, he felt that the end must be near. His mind was in a whirl, and fearful visions came to him: now he was battling with the sawfish, then the great snake was coming through the water after him, and anon Oleson had him by the throat and was choking him. The last vision seemed so real that he cried out as loudly as his parched throat would permit, "Help! help! somebody help me!"
What was that? an answering call? No, no, it
