For three days they sailed on, uneventfully. They had enough to eat to keep them from feeling hungry, though there was no great variety, and they had water to drink, though it was flat and warm. They even managed to get some sleep on piles of seaweed which had been put on the raft. But the sea, as if tired of being so calm, kicked up a fuss on the fourth day out, and waves began to come aboard. The fire was put out, and some of the tins of water washed overboard. This was a severe loss, for their scant supply was getting lower each hour. They were wet and miserable, and when it came on to rain, the only consolation in the storm was that they caught a little fresh water. The next day proved hot and muggy, when the body seemed to want as much water as a sponge. Dick, backed up by Widdy, would let only a little of the fresh fluid be used. The boys were advised to keep their bodies wet, as this helped to slake their thirst. There was little difficulty in this, as the spray and waves kept every one aboard the raft more or less soaked. They had to eat cold victuals, and on the fifth day, even these were limited in quantity, for the food was giving out. It was a forlorn and weary raft of adventurers that sailed slowly over the sea, with every one aboard straining his eyes for a sight of a ship that would rescue them. "It certainly is tough," murmured Beeby, when he was allowed but a mouthful of water. "Terribly tough! I'm awful dry!" "Think of something else!" counseled Dick. "We may be picked up to-morrow." They were not, though, and with their supply of food down almost to nothing, and only a little water left, their situation was desperate. Poor Grit whined and looked up into Dick's face, as if trying to understand why he did not have all the meat and water he wanted. The young millionaire (and what a mockery his wealth seemed to him then) shared his rations with the dogs, but would not allow the others to deprive themselves of any of theirs. Dick only drew his belt tighter, and gazed off into space, hoping against hope that he would see a ship. He wet his parched lips, and prayed silently--not so much for himself, as for the others, while Grit whined at his feet, and licked his hand. The little puppy, not being able to stand the strain, died, and, rather sorrowfully, they cast him overboard. It was on the ninth day out--a hot, broiling day--when the sun seemed fairly to sizzle through the bagging awning, and force out every drop of moisture from one's body. There was not an ounce of water left, and death stared them in the face. They lay about the raft limply, almost too weak to speak. It was Widdy who first saw the approaching, ship. At first he feared his eyes were deceiving him, and he rubbed them, and stared again and again, to make sure, before he ventured to cry out: "Sail ho!"