He was right. The sun reached its zenith and began to descend, but still the black fins wove their ceaseless circles round the boat. Jim had been scanning the sea, hand over his eyes. "There's a schooner," he remarked, without enthusiasm. Percy was all excitement. "Where? Where?" "Up there, two miles to windward. Double reefed and clawing west. She'd never see us in a thousand years, and if she did she couldn't do us any good. Forget her!" The schooner inched her way imperceptibly under the horizon. The boys had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours; excitement had prevented them from feeling hungry. Now they came to a realization that they had stomachs, and they finished half the hard bread remaining in the bag. "We'll save the rest," decided Jim. "May need it worse later than we do now." Percy could easily have eaten twice his share, but he recognized the wisdom of Jim's decision. Both were very thirsty, but without a drop of fresh water aboard there was nothing to do but wait. At four o'clock came disaster. The drug suddenly let go! Round whirled the dory, side to the seas. Jim grabbed the oar and jammed it into the scull-hole, but before he could wet the blade a crumbling roller almost swamped the boat. Out went everything that would float. "Save that bucket, Perce!" shouted Spurring. Percy clutched the handle just as the pail was going over the side. He bailed, while Spurling brought the flooded craft stern to the seas. "Take her now, Perce! Give me the bucket!" Furiously he began scooping out the water. After a long, discouraging fight the boat was bailed clear. "We've got to run before it while I rig another drug," said Spurling. "Keep her as she is." In the stern stood a five-gallon can of gasolene, one of the few things that had not been washed overboard when the dory filled. Making use of the sadly diminished coil of ground-line, Jim fastened this can to the end of the painter. Picking a smooth chance, he swung the bow up into the wind again; and soon they were floating snugly behind their new drug. For another hour they drifted uneventfully. Out of a cloudless sky the red sun dropped below the flying spindrift. A second night was coming, and still the norther raged with undiminished violence. It was growing dark and the stars were already out when a new sound fell on Percy's ears. "What's that?" he exclaimed. Up from the south came a faint, long-drawn, mournful voice, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_ They listened breathlessly. It sounded again, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_ "Whistling buoy!" ejaculated Jim. He thought a moment. "Cashe's Ledge!" he shouted. "Sixty miles south of Tarpaulin! That's drifting some since yesterday afternoon. Must be less than a mile to leeward or we couldn't hear it against this gale." Nearer and nearer, louder and louder, sounded the melancholy note, just west of south. Both boys strained their eyes. "I see it!" cried Percy, triumphantly. "There--rising on that swell! Almost astern! It's striped red and black!"