n and sent the
water flying on the wings of the wind.

Before he had baled the boat out the first time another wave swept in,
and he had to work hard to clear that out; but he soon had that done
after correcting our rowing, for I was pulling harder than Bob, and the
consequence was that the boat was not quite head to wind and did not
ride so easily as she should.

Darker and darker, with the faint star in the Gap quite gone now, and
all around us the hissing waste of waters upon which our frail shell of
a boat was tossed! It was so black now that we could hardly see each
other's faces, and in a doleful silence we toiled on till all at once
there was a sobbing cry from Bob Chowne, who fell forward over his oar.
Then the boat fell off and a wave came with a hissing rush over the
bows.

"Back water, Sep!" yelled Bigley as he dragged Bob Chowne away, seized
his oar, and began pulling, when the boat seemed to be eased again and
rose and fell regularly; but a quantity of water kept rushing to and fro
about poor Bob Chowne, who kept receiving it alternately in his back and
face.

"Sit up and bale, Bob!" shouted Bigley. "Do you hear? Take the
pannikin and bale."

Bob did not move, and Bigley shouted to him again.

"Take the pannikin and bale. Do you hear me? Take the pannikin and
bale."

"I can't," moaned Bob. "I can't. Let me lie here and die."

Dark as it was I could just make out Bigley's actions, for I was in the
fore part of the boat, and he before me.

"Bale, I say! Do you hear? Bale!" he shouted in his deep gruff voice.

"I can't," moaned Bob piteously.

"Then we shall sink--we shall go to the bottom."

"Yes; we're going to die," groaned Bob.

"No, we're not," cried Bigley in a fierce angry way that seemed
different to anything I had before heard from him. "Get up and bale!"

"No, no," groaned Bob again.

"Get up and bale!" thundered Bigley, and I felt hot and angry against
him, as I heard a dull thud, and it did not need Bob Chowne's cry of
pain to tell me that Bigley had given him a kick on the ribs.

"Oh, Big!" I cried.

"Row!" he roared at me; and then to Bob: "Now, will you bale?"

"Yes," groaned Bob, struggling to his knees, and, holding on with one
hand, he began to dip the baler in regularly and slowly, throwing out
about a pint of water every time.

"Faster!" shouted Bigley; "faster, I say."

"Oh!" moaned poor Bob; but he obeyed, and it seemed a puzzle to me that
our big com