s they were swamped or run down.

Throughout the long night the steady progress was maintained. It was
horribly cold. Most of the men were lightly clad in imperfectly dried
garments. Both Ross and Vernon were glad when the officers of the
_Orontabella_ relieved them, since they could take turn at the oars and
derive a certain amount of warmth from the exertion.

Day dawned at last, a brilliant pink sky that betokened bad weather
before the day was out. Away on the starboard bow could be discerned a
grey cliff surmounted by dark hills. It was the Isle of Wight, distant
about six miles off.

With the appearance of the sun the wind freshened, and soon developed
into a strong breeze dead in their teeth. Spray began to fly over the
bows, soon to be followed by green seas, that necessitated constant
baling. It was quite evident that every yard of that six miles meant
desperate work, with the chances of being swamped before the boat
reached land.

The men, weakened by hunger and exposure, stuck gamely to their task,
yet after another half an hour's hard pulling the boats seemed no
nearer their object. They were barely holding their own against the
wind and waves.

"What's to be done now?" asked Ross, consulting the experienced
skipper. Although the midshipman was in charge, he was not above
asking the advice of a man who had been to sea almost as many years as
the lad had been days. "We're hardly making headway, and the sea's
beating up fast."

"And the men are almost done up," added the skipper. "It's bound to be
worse before it gets better. I would suggest that we ride to a
sea-anchor, and trust to luck to be picked up."

The men quickly got to work. A triangle was composed of six oars in
pairs lashed together, two of the boat's gratings being secured between
the ash spars. To the apex the anchor was made fast, in order to make
the sea-anchor float in a vertical position, its weight compensated by
the use of the now empty water-beaker as a float.

Secured by three spans of equal length, which in turn were bent to the
boat's painter, the sea-anchor was dropped overboard. For some
distance the whaler drifted to leeward, until held by the strain of the
painter she rode head to wind, and in comparative safety in the wake of
the floating breakwater.

Vernon's boat then came close alongside. Her painter was caught and
secured, allowing her to ride astern.

The crews were then at liberty to rest, with t