“Since last night, yes.”
“Shipped from——”
“Portland, on the Golden Moose, and sunk in midocean a few hours since. And you?”
“Hugo Arnold, second mate of the merchantman Liverpool, bound for Philadelphia, and went down, disabled in a collision with an unknown ship.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
A few words of interrogation and reply showed that the ship which had hastened the sinking of the Moose was the Liverpool.
“The crew and the passengers all got off—some in the long-boats, some on rafts. This one we fixed up quickly, but three others on it abandoned us and swam after the boats.”
“And you’ve been on the water since?”
“Yes. We saw your signal, and are mighty glad of company. We took one precaution,” and the old sailor pointed to a cask and a box. “Drink and food,” he remarked.