"No, sickness is often not so bad a thing as folks think. It is nature's way of putting us right. Sometimes," he added thoughtfully, "we crumple up in the process, but we can hardly blame the old lady for that."

"You're an odd fellow, Madden," laughed Caradoc, getting slowly out of his chair and stretching his arms. "Well, for some reason or other, I feel fine this morning--let's take a constitutional around the dock."

The young men walked off, side by side, and began the circuit of the dock's quarter-mile outline. The breeze was such a rarity in the becalmed region that the two paused now and then to take long grateful breaths, and to watch the little wind waves ripple the glassy Sargasso lanes.

As they walked, navvies came out with buckets brushes and set to work painting the maze of iron stanchions that lined the long interior of the dock.

"I'm afraid I'll have to stop that painting," remarked Leonard after watching them a moment.

"They'll be very glad of it--but why?"

"It consumes too much energy. The men can live on less if they quit work."

"Oh, I see."

"I think I shall have to cut their food down to half rations. We've been adrift nearly sixteen days now and not a smoke plume from the _Vulcan_. She has lost us--if she didn't founder."

"Any chance of meeting some other vessel?"

"Here in the ocean's graveyard?"

"Are we far in?" inquired Smith with rising concern.

"Close to three hundred miles, and getting deeper every day."

The two walked on mechanically, with the precise step of those who seek exercise. The rim of the sun cut the edge of the ocean and a long trail of light made the east difficult for their eyes.

"Any danger of starving?" questioned Caradoc, staring moth-like at the blinding disc of flame.

"Perhaps not," meditated Madden. "I've been thinking about it. As a last resort this seaweed is edible, at any rate certain species of it. The Chinese and Japanese eat it, but that isn't much of a recommendation to a European. Then the water is full of fish that come to nibble at the stuff."

Caradoc was obviously inattentive to this consoling information. "Yes,"

he murmured politely, "Japanese do nibble at the fish."

Madden looked around at his abstracted friend, who was still staring into the molten sunrise.

"When the Japanese come to nibble at the fish, we might get some food from them," suggested Madden with American delight in the ridiculous.

"Perhaps so."

"And fans, parasols, and little ivory curios--souvenirs of the Sargasso, when we roll up the dock and take it home."

Smith nodded soberly, still gazing.

"What are you looking at, Caradoc?" laughed the American.

"I say, Madden, just look at that sun, will you? I thought I saw a little black fleck against it straightaway to the east right down on the horizon."

"You're injuring your sight, that's all," the American was still smiling. "You know black specks will dance before your eyes if you stare at the sun too long."

"But this was shaped like a sail," persisted Smith, staring again.

"Illusion," diagnosed Madden promptly, but his eyes followed Caradoc's eastward nevertheless.

As far as his sight could reach up the golden path, he saw the black markings of seaweed; then his vision became lost in a mist of illumination. However, in this region, he could distinguish things dimly and in flashes.

Presently, in one of these clear instants, he saw flashed, like the single film of a moving picture, the tiny black silhouette of a ship's sail against the dazzling east. Next moment it was lost in light.

"I told you!" cried Caradoc, getting his friend's expression. "It's there! We've both seen it! A ship, Madden!"

Then he turned with more strength than Madden thought was in him. "Sail ho, men!" he sang out. "A sail!"

"Come up, fellows, and take a look!" chimed in Madden just as eagerly.

"We believe we see a sail!"

The crew dropped work at once, and came climbing the ladder up the deep side of the canyon like a string of monkeys; then they came running across the red decking.

"Where?" "Wot direction?" "Where ees eet?" came a chorus of inquiries.

The two were pointing and soon the whole crew was lined up staring into the brilliance. Their fresh eyes caught the glimpse immediately and held it long enough to make sure.

"A sail!" "There she is!" "Oi see her!" bellowed half a dozen voices.

The whole crew fell into tense, happy confusion, laughing, staring, yelling, speculating, slapping backs.

"Will she see us?" cried someone.

"Do ye think she'd overlook the whole west half o' th' sea, Galton?"

"She weel run against us eef she cooms thees way."

"But she might not know we are in distress?"

"Disthress, is it ye're sayin'? We're not in disthress, ye loon. This is th' happiest day o' me loife."

Leonard turned to the Irishman. "Hogan, go dip that flag on the jury mast--wiggle it up and down--let 'em know something is wrong--make 'em think we have the rickets if nothing else."

Two men ran off with Hogan to the forward bridge; the others stared, waved, shouted and let their excitement bubble down.

"But I don't understand a sailing vessel in these waters," speculated Leonard.

"Maybe it's a derelick?" surmised Galton. "I've 'card as 'ow this was a great place for derelicks."

"'Ow could she be a derelick," argued Mulcher, "w'en she 'as so much canvas aloft? You run up on derelicks an' git sunk, ever' cove knows that."

"I carn't think of hall these things at once!" retorted Galton.

"Perhaps she ees the _Vulcan_ under sail with deesabled engines?"

suggested Deschaillon.