CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
"TO VISTLE FOR ZE VIND." Four days passed in the quiet, uneventful way familiar on board a small vessel, with the prisoners sinking into that state of apathy known as accepting the inevitable.

They were weary of condoling with one another, and telling themselves that sooner or later their chance for escape would come.

They bore their position good-temperedly enough, chatted with the sailors, took a turn or two at steering under the guidance of the man at the helm, and received a nod of approbation from the captain when he saw what they were doing.
"Aha, yais," he said, showing his teeth.

"You vill be my first and second officer before long, and zen ve sall all be ze grand contrabandiste." "Oh, shall we ?" said Vince, as soon as they were alone.

"We shall see about that." The captain had been amiable enough to them, and had the boys only felt that those they loved were well and possessing the knowledge that they were safe, the life would have been pleasant enough; but the trouble at home hung like a black cloud over them, and whenever they met each other's eyes they could read the care they expressed, and the feeling of misery deepened for awhile.
They went to bed as usual that fourth night, but towards morning Vince somehow felt uneasy; and at last, being troubled by thirst, he determined to go up on deck and get a pannikin of water from the cask lashed by the mainmast.
He half expected to find the door fastened, but it yielded to a touch; and, after listening at the cabin for a few moments to try and find whether the captain was asleep, he crept up on deck in the cool grey of the coming morning, and, looking back, saw the man at the helm, and forward two more at the look-out.
He had not many steps to go, and there was the pannikin standing ready, and the cover of the cask had only to be moved for him to dip out a tinful of the cool, fresh water, which tasted delicious; and, being refreshed by the draught, he was about to descend, when the beauty of the sea took his attention.