Two days after the death of LeRoy Grayson, three more men died.  The air had become brisk when Uriah led Mary toward the forecastle wall.  He seated her on a crate, sat down beside her and cradled John in his lap. The boy was even more sluggish than before and lay hard against his father's chest with his eyes wide open. Uriah's head had begun to pound. He leaned it against the wall, watched thin white clouds and listened to the sails flapping in the wind. With no food, the crew had stopped singing. Mary nodded off and slumped against his shoulder.

"Mary?" When she failed to answer, he turned just enough to lift her chin and look into her eyes. He waited until she focused on him. "Do not die, Mary. There is much I have not yet said." Gently, he leaned his head against hers. "Did you hear me Mary?"

"I heard."

Again, he glanced upward. The clouds were becoming darker. An hour later, he took his family down, strapped them to their beds and put Caroline Grayson in his lower bunk.

The pitch of the ship steadily grew harsh. Bound to her upper bed, Mary began to recite the Bible words she loved most: "Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn . . ."

Raising the flickering candle high, Uriah looked beyond his wife to his son. John's eyes seemed fixed and lifeless. Uriah held his breath and watched until finally, John blinked. Relieved, he eased himself to the floor. With the last of the leather straps, he bound himself to the center pole and waited.