He drank again, and later on, again, with a
persistent disregard of future consequences which only the overwhelming
disconsolation of his situation could have inspired.
The wind stiffened and at last he was obliged to take down his sail,
out of sheer lack of energy to continue his battle with fate. He lay
down under the bow for a long time.
The pitching of the yawl increased. Finally a larger sea than usual
sent nearly a barrel of water over the deck, that streamed down upon
his legs. Fear roused him to action once more.
He began bailing frantically with his hat, and soon had the boat dry
again. As he remained aft, no more seas were shipped, though the wind
was increasing, and by certain signs he felt that rougher weather might
be imminent. Clouds were rising, and though he did not like their
appearance, it was some relief when they shaded him from the now
declining heat of the sun.
As night approached, the wild waste of waters looked terribly stern and
forbidding. Occasionally a distant breaking of some white capped wave
would send his heart into his mouth, only to sink again despairingly.
Just at sunset the great luminary peered gloriously forth. Torturing
as was its power at midday, now it seemed to Ralph as if a friend were
bidding him farewell. When the last of its golden surface had
vanished, he felt as if that friend had departed, never to return, at
least to him.
For hours he sat after that, while a gloom as of death settled over the
ocean, broken only by the plash of waves and the constant creaking of
the yawl as it rolled and pitched in the trough of the sea.
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