"Sure, if you'd listened to me----" we all started off. Only Terry didn't get sore. He and the other three kids wouldn't give up hopin'. "Oh, they'll find us by another day," he'd grin. "What's bitin' you all?" The fourth day dawned and slipped by. No help. The fifth day came, and with it a storm that tossed our boat from the crest of one big wave to another. The water washed over us in torrents. We bailed like madmen to keep afloat at all. Sure, now, it's queer when you come to think of it, how hard men will work just to keep that little spark of life inside of them. With no hope in view they won't give up while there is strength in them to go on with the fight. We proved it through those days of black horror, in an open boat on a sea full of salt water. That was the awful fact that stared us in the face as the days slid by--no gettin' away from it--a certain knowledge that the water in those barrels was gettin' lower and lower. Six days--seven days--eight days. . . . Over a week adrift, drenched to your skin all the time, cold as ice at nights and hot as fire by day. Crackers and bacon . . . bacon and crackers . . . and not enough of either to last much longer--and then what? . . . We didn't talk much. Even the kids, when they weren't asleep in a sort of stupor, would stare out at sea. Then on one mornin' we made out smoke on the horizon! It was an hour of rejoicin'. We were that wild with joy we stood up and yelled until our voices cracked. We raised our wet shirts on an oar and waved them, but it was no use. The smoke vanished, they had never seen us. Some of the men sat down and cried like babies. I wanted to, God knows, but it's responsible I felt for those youngsters. Now supposin', I'd keep tellin' meself, that one of them was me own kid. Would I be after lettin' him see that I'd be givin' up all hope? Not much I wouldn't, so I tried to cheer them along. Half a cup of water a day was each man's portion. Half a cup, when you're burnin' up with thirst and there's water all around you. Just what you're longin' for and it's cool and wet and--salty. We knew it would lead to madness to drink that stuff, but we all wondered in our hearts how long before we would have to. We found if we sucked on buttons it helped a little to keep our dry throats moist, but our tongues were swollen and our lips were parched. There was a Norwegian aboard. He had been torpedoed before. He had great ideas as to what we ought to do, but the trouble was he couldn't speak English, and none of us knew Norwegian, so we couldn't get him at all. Nine days--ten days--eleven days . . . the water in the barrels was down so low that I tried reducin' me drink to a quarter of a cup a day. It was then I got on to the fact that Terry was actin' queer. The Norwegian put me wise. He pointed to the ocean and patted his mouth, then he jerked his thumb at Terry. I called the boy up sharp. "Drinkin' salt water, eh?" I snapped.