I was without confidence in the future, extremely doubtful, and yet I felt no underlying fear.

It must come right, it must come right, I repeated to myself, over and over again.
The wind freshened in the afternoon, raising a stiffer sea and trying the boat and me severely.

But the supply of food and the nine breakers of water enabled the boat to stand up to the sea and wind, and I held on as long as I dared.

Then I removed the sprit, tightly hauling down the peak of the sail, and we raced along under what sailors call a leg-of-mutton.
Late in the afternoon I sighted a steamer's smoke on the horizon to leeward, and I knew it either for a Russian cruiser, or, more likely, the _Macedonia_ still seeking the _Ghost_.

The sun had not shone all day, and it had been bitter cold.