Shout to them in the pauses of the storm,
And tell them there is hope.
* * * It is too late;
No help of human hand can reach them there;
One hour will hush their cries. —Maturin.
All sat mute,
Pondering the danger with deep thoughts. —Milton.
At this sight, the three persons on the wreck, who, when first seen, had seemed as inanimate as stone, started up, and while the females clasped their hands, their companion began to wave a handkerchief as a signal.
In a lull of the gale, Major Gordon shouted to them, making an impromptu speaking-trumpet of his hands. Only a faint sound, however, came back, proving that the strangers had replied; its purport was undistinguishable.
“They can’t hear a word you say,” remarked Mullen, coming up. “But they saw you were speaking to them, by your actions. If we can’t hear them,” he pertinently added, “with the wind towards us, how can they hear us?”
“Hark!” answered Major Gordon, “I thought I made out a word or two then. Didn’t he say that all on board were lost except themselves?”
“Likely enough. But see, he’s got a speaking-trumpet.”
As he spoke, Captain Powell raised that instrument to his mouth, and shouted, in broken intervals, that all on board had been lost except three; that they had no boats, nor anybody to man them if they had; and that the ladies could never reach shore alive, if they jumped overboard, even lashed to a spar. He concluded by saying—
“Haven’t you a whale-boat?”
Again Major Gordon attempted to make himself audible. But though he shouted again and again, and with a Stentor’s voice, it was evident that his accents were not heard on the wreck. Two or three of the others made a similar essay, but with no better success.