The Watery World Is All Before Them At sea in an open boat, and a thousand miles from land! Shortly after the break of day, in the gray transparent light, a speck to windward broke the even line of the horizon.

It was the ship wending her way north-eastward.
Had I not known the final indifference of sailors to such disasters as that which the Arcturion's crew must have imputed to the night past (did not the skipper suspect the truth) I would have regarded that little speck with many compunctions of conscience.

Nor, as it was, did I feel in any very serene humor.

For the consciousness of being deemed dead, is next to the presumable unpleasantness of being so in reality.

One feels like his own ghost unlawfully tenanting a defunct carcass.