“I like not to be mewed up like this,” objected Harriet when there came a chance for speech. “I like the feel of the wind and the hail and the spray.” “Is thee not afraid, Harriet?” questioned Peggy. “I am, down here,” answered her cousin. “I can stand any danger best that I can face. But they will not let us up. We might be swept away even if we could stand. And listen to the shouts, Peggy. There must be something amiss.” And so on all through the long night. The dawn broke at last and brought with it a slight abatement of the tempest, but with the lessening gale came a new form of assault. The air was colder. A heavy fog rolled up and through it came a blinding snow-storm, fairly choking the deck of the ship. For three days the girls were confined to the cabin, with but biscuits to nibble on. The fourth the wind fell at last, leaving the vessel rudderless and dismasted, and heaving on vast billows. “There is but one hope for us,” said Colonel Owen as he explained the damage to the girls, “and that is to be picked up by another vessel.” “Is it so bad as that, father?” questioned his daughter. “Yes,” he answered gloomily. But over the inky shroud of the ocean white capped and furious there shone no sign of a sail. The snow had ceased falling, but it was bitterly cold. The fifth and sixth days they tossed helplessly, but on the seventh day Peggy turned to her cousin with a startled query. “Harriet,” she cried, “does thee hear that throbbing sound? What is it?” Harriet Owen paled as she listened. “That, Peggy,” she said after a moment, “is the noise of the pumps. The ship hath sprung a leak.” At this moment Colonel Owen came from the deck. He was visibly pale, and much troubled in manner. “Wrap yourselves as warmly as possible,” he advised them. “’Tis but a question of time now ere we must take to the boats, and there is no telling to what ye may be subjected before reaching land, if in truth we ever tread foot on solid ground again. Hasten!” His warning was well timed; for, as he ceased speaking, there came hoarse shouts from above, a rush of hurrying feet, and the chugging of the pumps stopped. He ran up the hatchway, and was back almost instantly. “The boats are being lowered,” he informed them. “Throw what you can about you and come. If we dally we may be left behind. Men become beasts in a time like this.” The girls obeyed him with the utmost haste. They were both colorless, but composed. On deck a wild scene was being enacted. The ship no longer rose to the waves, and even to an inexperienced eye was settling. That it was time to lower the boats was plain to be seen. The captain was trying to preserve something like order among the crew, but the hour for discipline had gone by. “Women first,” he was crying in trumpet tones. “Men, remember your wives and daughters. Would ye have them left as ye are leaving these?”