or a pack of long-shore lubbers, who ought
to be turned adrift in a ferry-boat on a
pond?” My heart was heavy enough, God
knows, but I spoke out as loud as I could, in
that light way, to try and shame the men
back to their proper senses. I succeeded at
least in restoring silence; and that was
something in such a condition as ours.

My next anxiety was to know if the men
in the Surf-Boat had sighted the sail to the
westward. She was still driving a-head of
us, and the first time I saw her rise on the
waves, I made out a signal on board—a strip
of cloth fastened to a boat-hook. I ordered
the man by my side to return it with his
jacket tied on to the end of an oar; being
anxious to see whether his agitation had
calmed down and left him fit for his duty
again. He followed my directions steadily
and when he had got his jacket on again,
asked me to pardon him for losing his self-
command in a quiet, altered voice.

I shook hands with him, and gave him
the helm, in proof that my confidence was
restored; then stood up and turned my face to
the westward once again. I looked long into
the belt of clear sky, which was narrowing
already as the cloud-bank above sank over it.
I looked with all my heart and soul and
strength. It was only when my eyes could
stand the strain on them no longer, that I
gave in, and sat down again by the tiller. If I
had not been supported by a firm trust in
the mercy of Providence, which had
preserved us thus far, I am afraid I should have
abandoned myself at that trying time to
downright hopeless, speechless despair.

It would not express much to any but
seafaring readers if I mentioned the number of
leagues off that I considered the ship to be.
I shall give a better idea of the terrible
distance there was between us, when I say that
no landsman’s eye could have made her out
at all, and that none of us sailors could have
seen her but for the bright opening in
the sky, which made even a speck on
the waters visible to a mariner’s
experienced sight all that weary way off. When
I have said this, I have said enough to
render it plain to every man’s
understanding that it was a sheer impossibility
to make out what course the ship was
steering, seeing that we had no chance of
keeping her in view at that closing time of
day for more than another half-hour, at most.
There she was, astern to leeward of us; and
here were we, driving for our lives before the
wind, with any means of kindling a light that
we might have possessed on leaving our ship
wetted through long ago—with no guns to
fire as signals of distress in the darkness—
and with no choice, if the wind shifted, but
still to scud in any direction in which it might
please to drive us. Supposing, even at the
best, that the ship was steering on our course,
and would overhaul us in the night, what
chance had we of making our position known
to her in the darkness? Truly, look at it
anyhow we might from our poor mortal point
of view, our prospect of deliverance seemed
to be of the most utterly hopeless kind that
it is possible to conceive.

The men felt this bitterly, as the cloud-
bank dropped to the verge of the waters, and
the sun set redly behind it. The moaning
and lamenting among them was miserable to
hear, when the last speck and phantom of
the ship had vanished from view. Some few
still swore they saw her when there was
hardly a flicker of light left in the west, and
only gave up looking out, and dropped
down in the boat, at my express orders. I
charged them all solemnly to set an example
of courage to the passengers, and to trust the
rest to the infinite wisdom and mercy of the
Creator of us all. Some murmured, some
fell to repeating scraps out of the Bible and
Prayer-Book, some wandered again in their
minds. This went on till the darkness
gathered—then a great hush of silence fell
drearily over passengers and crew; and the
waves and the wind hissed and howled about
us, as if we were tossing in the midst of them,
a boat-load of corpses already!

Twice in the forepart of the night the
clouds overhead parted for a little, and let
the blessed moonlight down upon us. On
the first of those occasions, I myself served
out the last drops of fresh water we had left.
The two women—poor suffering creatures!—
were past drinking. Miss Coleshaw shivered
a little when I moistened her lips with the
water; and Mrs. Atherfield, when I did the
same for her, drew her breath with a faint,
fluttering sigh, which was just enough to
show that she was not dead yet. The Captain
still lay as he had lain ever since I got on
board the boat. The others, both passengers
and crew, managed for the most part to
swallow their share of the water—the men
being just sufficiently roused by it to get up on
their knees, while the moonlight lasted, and
look about wildly over the ocean for a chance
of seeing the ship again. When the clouds
gathered once more; they crouched back in
their places with a long groan of despair.
Hearing that, and dreading the effect of the
pitchy darkness (to say nothing of the fierce
wind and sea) on their sinking spirits, I
resolved to combat their despondency, if it
were still possible to contend against it, by
giving them something to do. First telling
them that no man could say at what time of
the night the ship (in case she was steering
our course) might forge ahead of us, or how
near she might be when she passed, I
recommended that all who had the strength should
join their voices at regular intervals, and
shout their loudest when the boat rose
highest on the waves, on the chance of that
cry of distress being borne by the wind within
hearing of the watch on board the ship. It is
unnecessary to say that I knew well how near
it was to an absolute impossibility that this