ss_ had encountered since leaving Freekirk Head, but
hustling, slopping hills that attacked him in endless and rapid
succession. His progress was a continuous climb to one summit,
followed by a dizzying swoop into the following depth.

Each climb was punctuated at the top by a gallon or so of water slopped
into the dory from the crest of the wave. These influxes became so
frequent that he was obliged to bail very often. Consequently he
unshipped one oar and, crawling to the stern, shipped the other in the
notch of the sternboard.

Here he sculled with one hand so as to keep the dory's head to the
wind, and bailed with the other. Being aft, his weight caused the
water to run down to him, and he could thus perform the two operations
at the same time.

When pitch-blackness had come he knew that he was out of reach of the
schooner's horn. His only chance lay in the fog's lifting or the
passing of some schooner.

His principal concern was for the wind. It was just the time of year
for those "three-day" nor'-easters that harry the entire coast of
North America. When the first excitement of his danger passed he was
assailed by the fierce hunger of nervous and physical exhaustion, but
there was no food aboard the dory. He had, of course, the breaker of
water that was part of his regular equipment; but this was more for
use during a long day of fishing than for the emergency of being lost
at sea.

He took a hearty drink and prepared for the long watch of the night.

By a wax match several hours later he found that it was midnight. His
struggle with wind and sea had now become unequal. He found it
impractical to remain longer in the stern attempting to scull. So very
cautiously he set about his last defensive measure.

Taking the two oars and the anchor, as well as the thwarts, he bound
them together securely with the anchor roding. This drag he hove from
the bow of the dory, and it swung the boat's head into the wind.
Schofield, with the bailer in one hand, lay flat in the bottom.

With the increasing sea, water splashed steadily over the sides so
that his exertions never ceased. The chill of the night penetrated his
soaked garments, and this, with his exhaustion, produced a stupor. The
whistle of the wind and the hiss of foaming crests became dream
sounds.

CHAPTER XII

OUT OF FREEKIRK HEAD

"OH, I wouldn't think of such a thing for a minute!"

Captain Bijonah Turner waved his hand with an air of finalit