“No, sir, they’s no findin’ un,” reported Tom. “They’s lost, sir. We picks up an oar an’ a sleepin’ bag, but we’s not seein’ th’ boat, sir.”
“Lost! Lost!” exclaimed Remington in consternation.
Captain Bluntt stood speechless and overcome. When Tom Hand reached deck, with the sleeping bag and oar, he examined the things critically, and asked:
“Where did you find these? Where’d you find ’em?”
“Full two miles t’ th’ s’uthard, sir. We hears shots an’ pulls for un, and then th’ shots stop. We keep pullin’ t’ the’ s’uthard till we most loses th’ sound o’ your shootin’, an’ here we picks up th’ oar, an’ a bit farther th’ sleepin’ bag. We hollers an’ hollers, but gets no answer, an’ we pulls around through th’ fog, but finds no more, an’ we comes back. ’Twere growin’ dusk, sir, an’ no use lookin’ farther sir.”
“No, ’twere no use lookin’ further. No use.” Turning to Remington, “They’s lost, sir. They’s lost,” and Captain Bluntt blew his nose on his handkerchief and gave an order to Tom Hand in as gruff a voice as he could assume, that he might hide his emotion.
“My God! Is it possible!” said Remington, quite stunned.
“This is awful! Awful!” Ainsworth exclaimed.
“I can never go back home without Paul—never! Never! How could I face his father?” Remington half moaned.
Ainsworth could offer no consolation. There was nothing to be done. No tragedy ever came more unexpectedly, and the young men were made sick with the realization of it.