to-morrow. Do you hear that, Jarvis Waring? I'll go to-morrow!'

And then the Spirit, who had been listening as usual, folded himself
up silently and flew away.

To go to sleep in a bed, and awake in an open boat drifting out to
sea, is startling. Waring was not without experiences, startling and
so forth, but this exceeded former sensations; when a bear had him,
for instance, he at least understood it, but this was not a bear, but
a boat. He examined the craft as well as he could in the darkness.
'Evidently boats in some shape or other are the genii of this region,'
he said; 'they come shooting ashore from nowhere, they sail in at a
signal without oars, canvas, or crew, and now they have taken to
kidnapping. It is foggy too, I'll warrant; they are in league with
the fogs.' He looked up, but could see nothing, not even a star.

'What does it all mean anyway? Where am I? Who am I? Am I anybody? Or
has the body gone and left me only as an any?' But no one answered.
Finding himself partly dressed, with the rest of his clothes at his
feet, he concluded that he was not yet a spirit; in one of his pockets
was a match, he struck it and came back to reality in a flash. The
boat was his own dug-out, and he himself and no other was in it: so
far, so good. Everything else, however, was fog and night. He found
the paddle and began work. 'We shall see who will conquer,' he
thought, doggedly, 'Fate or I!' So he paddled on an hour for more.

Then the wind arose and drove the fog helter-skelter across to Green
Bay, where the gray ranks curled themselves down and lay hidden until
morning. 'I'll go with the wind,' thought Waring, 'it must take me
somewhere in time.' So he changed his course and paddled on. The wind