Stars wakened. Long after day was gone Jukes curled himself in the middle of the raft and went to sleep. Thirst wakened him. He dipped the dungarees in the sea and wrapped them round his neck. Night passed. At dawn the horizon was empty. Fins cruised to and fro on all sides. Snouts broke the still blue water. The sky was cloudless. When Jukes dipped his dungarees, jaws snapped on them. He wrenched, and a leg of the dungarees remained in his hands. He wrapped it about his neck, and crouched down. The sun climbed higher. Jukes rocked a little to and fro. Now and again a low coughing grunt escaped him. Day passed. Night came, starry and still. Snouts nosed around the raft’s edge. Fins darted to and fro, rippling the windless water. Jukes slept fitfully, dreamed, wakened, dozed, and dreamed again. Night passed. At dawn Jukes climbed unsteadily to his feet. His lips were black, his skin scarlet. He moaned. His tongue was swollen. A quarter of a mile from the raft a dense black cloud was slowly crossing the equatorial sky. A sheer wall of water fell from the cloud to the sea. Flying fish leaped at the rain’s foot. White birds preyed on them from above, silver-bellied fish from below. The snouts were gone, to join in the preying. Staring at the rain wall, Jukes listened to the just-audible _s-s-s-s_ of the doldrum squall. The squall passed by, came within an eighth of a mile of the raft, dipped under the sea rim, and was gone. The sun rode high in a blue cloudless sky. The snouts were back. Fins rippled the water all about. Jukes crouched, with the wet scrap of dungaree about his neck. Day passed. Night came. Jukes lay prostrate, face downward. Hours passed. Long after midnight he lifted his head and tried to climb to his knees. A dim green light winked on the sea far off. He toppled over and was still. Wind ruffled his hair and blew cool upon his brow. Alf Jukes saw houses with smoking chimneys, windows aglint. Saw masts and spars along a waterfront. Heard singing, far away. A wind blew through green treetops. * * * * * When Jukes came to himself he lay in a lamplit forecastle. From near by came the voices of sailors. “I seen a boat wi’ two dead men in her one time. None ever knowed wot ship they was from.” “If you follers deep water long enough, it’ll git ye.” “Aye. ’Ow many _old_ sailors ’ave you ever seed?” Jukes raised his head painfully and listened. From neck to ankles his body was a fiery blister. “I been eleven blasted year at sea. I got nuthin’.” “You never will ’ave.” “W’oo cares?” “There don’t no one care. You an’ me is dogs.” “This here’ll be my last v’yage.” “Aye.--That’s wot you says.--Wait.” “Wait yerself. I’m done.” “Haw, haw, haw!” “There’s one as had ought to be cured leastways,” and a nod toward the forecastle. Jukes climbed from the bunk and tottered out into the starlight. “’Ow are ye, matey?” “Bring ’im some water.” Jukes gulped cold water down.