Thus the day wore on until afternoon. No one but Buffalo Bill continued to be hopeful, for they seemed to have been saved so long only by a series of miracles--and miracles could not go on like that forever. Had it not been for the border king’s cheery voice and manner some of the men would have thrown down their oars in blank despair; but his heroic helpfulness inspired new life and courage in many a sinking heart. Fortunately there was as yet no lack of provisions. The schooner’s larder had been well provisioned for the surveying trip, and some of the food had been brought up and distributed before the boats left the sinking craft. The passengers and sailors carried their rations as best they could in their pockets or in the loose bosoms of their rough shirts. Buffalo Bill continued to talk a great deal, whatever else he might chance to be doing, and listeners were not wanting; for the sound of a cheerful voice without a tremor in it was very welcome amid a babel of wails and groans and stifled shrieks--welcome even to those who, having lost their nerve, contributed most to the dismal chorus. The king of the scouts took his turn regularly at rowing and at bailing, for he never shirked a duty--but whether he was doing these things, or taking a brief rest, or clambering with others over the highest gunwale of the boat to avoid a threatened upsetting, he talked incessantly, loudly cheering, sometimes even jokingly. Many a pallid face in all three boats looked wonderingly into his and caught his infectious hope. Captain Meinhold acknowledged his valuable services in this way again and again, and at one time said to him, pointing the compliment with an expressive look: “I begin to think we shall get through safely after all, old fellow. We certainly ‘carry Cæsar.’” “I don’t know about that,” was the quick response. “Perhaps you carry Jonah.” It was right that such a man, who had long sustained the despairing hearts of his fellow voyagers, should be the first to discover for them the signs of a well-grounded hope of safety. About noon the clouds which had been obscuring the sky began to break away, and the sun came out in all its glory, lighting a pathway through the distant haze. “Land ahead!” shouted Buffalo Bill, in stentorian tones. “Land ahead!” came back in wild response from the other boats, while cheer after cheer rose again and again, until the glad voices failed from exhaustion. The land was miles distant, and they had only the vaguest idea of what sort of place it might be. In all probability it was a wilderness inhabited by savage Indians, who, although nominally at peace with the white man, would yet not hesitate to take their scalps when they saw their weak, if not utterly hopeless, condition. Buffalo Bill wished now that Congo had not prevented him from dashing down below and getting his weapons. They were likely to be badly needed when that land was reached.