"A small boat, Senor--a dory, I make it."

"Cut the rope, and send it adrift. Now come along with me."

The darker loom of the sloop vanished slowly, as the slight current
sweeping about the end of the wharf drifted the released boat to which
I clung outward into the Bay. The faint echo of a voice floated to my
ears across the widening expanse of water, and then all was silent as
the night closed in darkly between. There was scarcely a ripple to
the sea, and yet I felt that the boat was steadily drifting out into
deeper water. I was still strangely weak, barely able to retain my
grasp, with a peculiar dullness in my head, which made me fearful that
at any moment I might let go. I was not even conscious of thinking, or
capable of conceiving clearly my situation, yet I must have realized
vaguely the immediate necessity of action, for finally I mustered
every ounce of remaining energy in one supreme effort, and succeeded
in dragging my body up out of water over the boat's stern, sinking
helplessly forward into the bottom. The moment this was accomplished
every sense deserted me, and I lay there motionless, totally
unconscious.

I shall never know how long I remained thus, the little dory in which
I lay rocked aimlessly about by the waves, and constantly drifting in
the grasp of unseen currents farther and farther out into the Bay. The
blackness of the night swallowed us, as tossed by wind and sea, we
were borne on through the waste unguided. Yet this time could not have
been great. As though awakening from sleep a faint consciousness
returned, causing me to lift my head, and stare hopelessly about into
the curtain of mist overhanging the water. At first, with nothing