The men began to suffer greatly from cramps, owing to their number and
confined position. During the calm they rowed all day, and with this and
a light westerly breeze that sprung up, they got into the sea-road again.
But, having now sailed three hundred and fifty miles to the southward,
they found a great change in the temperature. The nights were so cold
that they were fain to huddle together, to keep a little warmth in their
bodies.

On the fifteenth day of their voyage it began to rain and blow, and then
they were never a whole minute out of peril. Hand forever on the sheet,
eye on the waves, to ease her at the right moment; and with all this care
the spray eternally flying half way over her mast, and often a body of
water making a clean breach over her, and the men bailing night and day
with their very hats, or she could not have lived an hour.

At last, when they were almost dead with wet, cold, fatigue and danger, a
vessel came in sight and crept slowly up, about two miles to windward of
the distressed boat. With the heave of the waters they could see little
more than her sails; but they ran up a bright bandanna handkerchief to
their masthead; and the ship made them out. She hoisted Dutch colors,
and--continued her course.

Then the poor abandoned creatures wept and raved, and cursed in their
frenzy, glaring after that cruel, shameless man who could do such an act,
yet hoist a color, and show of what nation he was the native--and the
disgrace.

But one of them said not a word. This was Wylie. He sat shivering, and
remembered how he had abandoned the cutter, and all on board. Loud sighs
broke from his laboring breast; but not a word. Yet one word was ever