preciate it before long."

Slagg was right. After the planking had been secured and the rope
refastened, those unfortunates found themselves in an unenviable
position. The gale had indeed abated somewhat, though the heaving of
the great waves was little less tremendous, but the night had settled
down into a state of pitchy darkness, so that they could barely see each
other's faces, while the seas continually washed over them, obliging
them to hold on to the ropes for fear of being washed away.

In such circumstances sleep was out of the question, yet they stood
sorely in need of rest.

"Now we'll see what's to be done wi' the sail," said Slagg, after they
had been seated some time doing nothing. "Sleep I want, an' sleep I'll
have, so lend a hand, boys."

He drew out the sail with some trouble, so well had it been stuffed in,
and bade the others hold and prevent it from flapping while he fastened
the corners down. He did not arrange it like a tent, but spread it as
flat as possible, doubling the superfluous edges inward, so that it
presented little or no obstruction to the free passage of wind or water
over them.

This done, they all crept underneath, and found it to be a much snugger
den than they had expected, for the two casks prevented their heads from
being pressed down when a few tons of water rolled over them--as
occasionally happened.

Still they did not dare to sleep until each had fastened a rope round
his waist and bound himself to the flooring. Having done so, each laid
himself alongside of a turn of the binding-cable, and, embracing that
affectionately with both arms, laid his head on the planks and shut his
eyes.

Many and varied are the conditions under which healthy members of the
human family seek and find repose, but we venture to think that few
conditions have ever been found which were more unfavourable to sleep
than that which has just been described.

Nevertheless, they were met promptly by slumber most profound, as they
lay wet and weary on the little raft that disastrous night, on the dark
and surging breast of the Southern Sea.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

LIFE ON THE RAFT.

To awake "all at sea"--in other words, ignorant of one's locality--is a
rather common experience, but to awaken both at and in the sea, in a
similar state of oblivion, is not so common.

It was the fortune of Robin Wright to do so on the first morning after
the day of the wreck.

At first, when he opened his