"Jack! Jack! Wake up. You are dreaming!" Opening my eyes I saw Jose bending over me, his face stricken with fear. My head burned, but my face and limbs were wet as if I had just come from the sea. "Get up," said Jose sharply, "and walk about with me. You must not dream again." It seems that in my sleep I had screamed aloud; but the sailors took no notice of me either then or afterwards. They had troubles enough of their own, and were totally indifferent to those of others. The red tinge had now gone from the haze, leaving it cold and gray; the sea was dull and lifeless, no ripple breaking the stillness of its surface. "Is there any hope, Jose?" I asked in a whisper, and from his face, though not from his speech, learned there was none. The captain had stored two bottles of liquor in the cabin for his own use. These he shared amongst us; but it was fiery stuff, and even at the first increased rather than allayed our thirst. Most of the crew were lying down now; but one had climbed to the roof of the forecastle, and stood there singing in a weak, quavering voice. Jose spoke to him soothingly; but he only laughed, and continued his weird song. His face haunted me; even when darkness closed like a pall around us I could still see it. He sang on and on in the gloom, and it appeared to me that he was wailing our death-chant. Presently there was silence, followed by a slight shuffling sound as the man moved to another part of the deck; then the song began again, and was followed by a burst of uncanny laughter. Suddenly it seemed as if the poor fellow realized his position, as he broke into a sob and called on God to save him. Making our way to the other side of the vessel, we found him sitting disconsolately on a coil of rope, and did our best to cheer him. The skipper joined us, but no other man stirred hand or foot. Apparently their terrible suffering had overpowered all feeling of sympathy. "Don't give way," said Jose brightly, laying a hand on his shoulder; "bear up, there's a good fellow. Rain may fall at any moment now, and then we shall be saved." "Ah, senor," cried the poor fellow huskily, "my throat is parched, parched; my head is like a burning coal! but I will be quiet now and brave--if I can." "This is terrible," exclaimed the captain piteously, as after a time we turned away. "Hope must be our sheet-anchor," said Jose. "Once cut ourselves adrift from that, and we shall go to ruin headlong." He spoke bravely, but his words came from the lips only, and this we all knew. Sitting down on a coil of rope, we waited for the night to pass, longing for yet dreading the appearance of another dawn. It was dreadfully silent, except when some poor fellow broke the stillness with his groans and cries of anguish. It was, as nearly as I could judge, about one o'clock in the morning, when Jose suddenly sprang to his feet with a cry of joy. "What is it?" I asked; and he, clapping his hands, exclaimed,--