crash of waters about him and the howl of the gale.
He was overboard!
Terror clutched at his heart with fingers colder than the sea. He shrieked aloud, but the sound was torn from his lips by the wind. He thrashed his arms impotently and went down into a great depth, turning over and over while tons of water seethed over him with a dull roaring. He fought for the surface, his garments impeding him but the life-vest aiding, and presently felt the air in his nostrils again. His lungs were choked with the water he had swallowed and he felt horribly sick. But the first panic of unreasoning fright had passed and he was able to think, if not calmly, at least with some clearness. He realized that, horrible as his condition was, drowning was as yet a long way off if he could keep his head above water, for his life-vest would sustain him for days. If death came it would come from exhaustion, for to keep air in his lungs would mean a constant struggle and struggling would soon weary him. The cold he believed he could stand for some time. But he had no illusions. He knew that his chance of being rescued was not one in a hundred, that even could he hold out until daylight, and the storm should pass, there might be no ship to
