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.