She took the revolver from me, and examined it with the air of one
familiar with firearms. Then she looked up at me, her lips as
white as her face.

"We are relying on you, Leslie," she said.

And, at her words, the storm of self-contempt and bitterness that I
had been holding in abeyance for the last half hour swept over me
like a flood. I could have wept for fury.

"Why should you trust me?" I demanded. "I slept through the time
when I was needed. And when I wakened and found myself locked in
the storeroom, I waited to take the lock off instead of breaking
down the door! I ought to jump overboard."

"We are relying on you," she said again, simply; and I heard her
fasten the door behind me as I went out.

Dawn was coming as I joined the crew, huddled around the wheel.
There were nine men, counting Singleton. But Singleton hardly
counted. He was in a state of profound mental and physical
collapse. The Ella was without an accredited officer, and, for
lack of orders to the contrary, the helmsman--McNamara now--was
holding her to her course. Burns had taken Schwartz's place as
second mate, but the situation was clearly beyond him. Turner's
condition was known and frankly discussed. It was clear that, for
a time at least, we would have to get along without him.

Charlie Jones, always an influence among the men, voiced the
situation as we all stood together in the chill morning air: