Becker saw that his was one of those minds that grew less calm the more they were urged, and the excitement of which must be permitted to wear itself out; he therefore beckoned his sons to leave him to his own reflections.
The wind still blew a gale, and the pinnace pitched heavily; but the sun was now beginning to break through the masses of lurid cloud, and the air was becoming less and less charged with vapor.
"I can descry nothing either," said Becker; "and yet this is the direction the storm must have driven the sloop."
"The sea is very capricious," suggested Fritz.
"True, but not to the extent of carrying a ship against the wind."
"Unfortunately," said Jack, "it is not on sea as on land, where the slightest indications of an object lost may lead to its discovery; a word dropped in the ear of a passer-by might put you on the track, but here it is no use saying, 'Sir, did you not see the Nelson pass this way?'"
"Fire a shot," said Ernest; "it may perhaps be heard, now that the air is less humid."
The two-pounder was ready charged; Fritz struck a light and set fire to a strip of mimosa bark, with which he touched the piece, and the report boomed across the waters.
Willis raised his head and listened anxiously, but soon dropped it again, and resumed his former attitude of hopeless despair.
"It may be," said Ernest, "that the Nelson hears our signal, though we do not hear hers."