Now he rowed with the wind, keeping it as
directly astern as possible; nor did he pause in his efforts until
compelled by exhaustion. Then he again lay down, and this time dropped
into a fitful doze.
Waking a little later with chattering teeth, he resumed his oars for
the sake of warming exercise, and again rowed as long as he was able.
So, with alternating periods of weary work and unrefreshing rest, the
slow dragging hours of that interminable night were spent. Finally,
after he had given up all hope of ever again seeing a gleam of
sunshine, a faint gray began to permeate the fog that still held him in
its wet embrace, and Cabot knew that he had lived to see the beginnings
of another day.
To make sure that the almost imperceptible light really marked the
dawn, he shut his eyes and resolutely kept them closed until he had
counted five hundred. Then he opened them, and almost screamed with
the joy of being able to trace the outlines of his raft. Again and
again he did this until at length the black night shadows had been
fairly vanquished and only those of the fog remained.
With the assurance that day had fairly come, and that the dreaded
iceberg was at least not close at hand, Cabot again sought
forgetfulness of his misery in sleep. When he awoke some hours later,
aching in every bone, and painfully hungry, he was also filled with a
delicious sense of warmth; for the sun, already near its meridian, was
shining as brightly as though no such things as fog or darkness had
ever existed.
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