Morning dawned, but brought little alleviation. It is true, the storm had abated, and the sky was becoming clear, but the wind was still high, and the boat rocked fearfully, while the billows, that had not yet been hushed into quiet, threatened, every now and then, to submerge the frail and tempest-tossed bark. They had drifted,--so the sailors said,--a long way through the night, and must be somewhere near the coast of Newfoundland; but no indication of land was visible, nor was there to be seen the slightest trace of their companions in misfortune. All that day the sailors behaved pretty well; a bag of biscuits had been placed on board, and a jar of water, of which each partook, and all felt a little comforted and strengthened; but, as night came on, the men commenced afresh to drink. Most fortunately, the sea had become calm, so the boat drifted on, pretty much left to its own will. The next morning found the sailors in a state of almost helpless intoxication; but now land was in sight, though at a great distance, and the women, seizing the oars, strove to impel the boat in that direction; but soon, worn out with the struggle, and finding they made but little headway, most of them gave up to despair, and resigned themselves, as they said, to their fate. It was now high noon, at least so they judged from the look of the sun, and Agnes strove by every means to re-assure her fainting companions. She spoke of the power and goodness of their heavenly Father, and besought them to unite with her in earnest petitions to the throne of grace for timely succor, or for a preparation for a speedy exit from life. Some heard with attention, and united with agonizing earnestness in the petition, which, as it ascended from her lips, sounded like a seraph's pleading, and surely reached the ear of the Lord God of Sabaoth. Others listened with stolid indifference, or sullen despair. Throughout the precious years of prosperity, that had been vouchsafed to them, they had been neglecters of the "great salvation;" and now, in the article and hour of death, they knew not how to implore his mercy, of whom they had been hitherto utterly unmindful, much less adored and loved. At length one of the women lifted her face, haggard with care and grief, and threw a glance, preternaturally sharpened, over the wild waste of waters:-- "I see a sail yonder," she cried wildly. "Look," she cried to Agnes, "can you not see it, too?"--but just at this moment one of the sailors, not quite so much stupefied as the others, hearing the exclamation, roused himself, and bent over the side of the boat, and instantly the frail bark was submerged beneath the waves. Oh, what shrieks of agony filled the air. "Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave."