frantically. There was no one near him. This was it. If he
hurried. If he was not seen.
He approached his barrel, undid the fastenings, looked about
again. Still no one nearby. The other vessel definitely
appeared to be approaching. There was neither time nor means to
calculate courses, judge winds or currents. There was only the
gamble and the hope.
He took the former and held to the latter as he rolled the barrel
to the railing, raised it, and cast it overboard. A moment later
he followed it.
The water was icy, turbulent, dark. He was sucked downward.
Frantically he clawed at it, striving to drag himself to the
surface.
Finally there was a glimpse of light. He was buffeted by waves,
tossed about, submerged a dozen times. Each time, he fought his
way back to the top.
He was on the verge of giving up when the sea suddenly grew calm.
The sounds of the storm softened. The day began to grow brighter
about him. Treading water, he saw the vessel he had just quitted
receding in the distance, carrying its private hell along with it.
And there, off to his left, bobbed the barrel with the blue
marking. He struck out after it.
When he finally reached it, he caught hold. He was able to draw
himself partly out of the water. He clung there and panted. He
shivered. Although the sea was calmer here, it was still very cold.
When some of his strength returned, he raised his head, scanned the
horizon.
There!
The vessel he had sighted was even nearer now. He raised an arm
and waved it. He tore off his shirt and held it high, rippling
in the wind like a banner.
He did this until his arm grew numb. When he looked again the
ship was nearer still, though there was no indication that he had
been sighted. From what appeared to be their relative movements,
it seemed that he might well drift past it in a matter of minutes.
He transferred the shirt to his other hand, began waving it again.
When next he looked, he saw that the vessel was changing course,
coming toward him. Had he been stronger and less emotionally
drained, he might have wept. As it was, he became almost
immediately aware of a mighty fatigue and a great coldness. His
eyes stung from the salt, yet they wanted to close. He had to
keep looking at his numbed hands to be certain that they
maintained their hold upon the barrel.
"Hurry!" he breathed. "Hurry. . . ."
He was barely conscious when they took him into the lifeboat and
wrapped him in blankets. By the time they came alongside the
ship, he was asleep.
He slept the rest of that day and all that night, awakening only
long enough to sip hot grog and broth. When he did try to speak,
