ery blackness of darkness.

"The best thing to do," said Captain Corbet, "is to go to sleep. In all
kinds of darkness, whether intunnel or extunnel, I've allus found the
best plan to be to sleep it off. An I've knowed great men who war of
my opinion. Sleep, then, young sirs, while yet you may, while yer
young blood is warm, an life is fresh an fair, an don't put it off to
old age, like me, for you mayn't be able to do it. Look at me! How
much d'ye think I've slep sence I left Mud Creek? Precious little. I
don't know how it is, but bein alone with you, an havin the
respons'bility of you all, I kine o' don't feel altogether able to
sleep as I used to do; an sence our late loss--I--wal, I feel as though
I'd never sleep agin. I'm talkin an talkin, boys, but it's a solemn
time with me. On me, boys, rests the fate of that lad, an I'll scour
these here seas till he turns up, ef I hev to do it till I die.
Anxious? Yes, I am. I'm that anxious that the diskivery of the lost
boy is now the one idee of my life, for which I forget all else; but
allow me to say, at the same time, that I fully, furmly, an
conshuentiously bleve an affum, that my conviction is, that that thar
lad is bound to turn up all right in the end--right side up--with
care--sound in every respect, in good order an condition, jest as when
fust shipped on board the good schooner Antelope, Corbet master, for
Petticoat Jack, as per bill ladin."

The captain's tones were mournful. He heaved a deep sigh as he
concluded, and relapsed into a profound and melancholy silence.

The boys waited on deck for some time longer, and finally followed his
advice, and sought refuge below. They were young and strong, and the
fatigue which they felt brought on drowsiness, which, in spite of their
anxiety, soon deepened into sleep. All slept, and at length Captain
Corbet only was awake. It was true enough, as he had said, the fate of
the lost boy rested upon him, and he felt it. His exhortations to the
boys about keeping up their courage, and his stories about lost men who
had drifted to a final rescue, were all spoken more with reference to
himself than to them. He sought to keep up his own courage by these
words. Yet, in spite of his efforts, a profound depression came over
him, and well nigh subdued him. No one knew better than he the many
perils which beset the drifting boat in these dangerous waters--the
perils of storm, the perils of fog, the perils of thick dar