“What’s to be done?” asked Tom gravely.
“Have to go on shorter rations—that’s all,” decided Abe. “That is, us grown folks.”
“Shorter rations!” exclaimed Mr. Skeel. “I don’t see how I can live on any less.”
“It’s a question of living several days, or dying sooner—that’s what it is,” said Joe, half savagely. “We’ve got to keep alive until we sight land, or until a ship rescues us, and the only way to do it is to eat as little as possible. Just enough to keep from starving.”
“Then we’ll do it,” said Tom simply, and he proceeded to deal out much reduced portions of food. Fortunately there was no need to shorten the water supply yet, though they did take less, for they all knew the horror of thirst.
All that day they sailed before a fair wind, and not a moment but what they looked eagerly for a sight of some sail on the horizon, or the smudge of smoke that would tell of a steamer. But they saw nothing.
They were more anxious than they had been on the derelict, for, though the weather was calm, and seemed likely to remain so, there was no telling when a storm would sweep over the ocean. And a storm in an open boat was a different matter from one on the big, though water-logged, hulk of the lumber vessel.
True, the lifeboat had water-tight compartments, and would not be likely to sink, but seas breaking over her would mean the almost certain destruction of some, if not all, of the little band of shipwrecked ones. So they looked anxiously for a rescue.
Night came—a beautiful night with a calm sea, and a great silver moon riding over head. It seemed an augury of good luck and they all felt their hearts beat a little lighter. Even Professor Skeel looked less gloomy and sour, though he did not mingle nor talk with the others, sitting by himself.
They slept by turns, though not as comfortably as on the derelict. Still they realized that they were making better time, and time was a great object with them now.