"I think the steamer went down with nearly everybody on board."
"Dot is terrible!" burst out Hans. "Poor Fred! Und poor Songpird! Vot vill der folks say ven da hear dot?" And he shook his head, dubiously.
"And poor Harold Bird!" added Dick. He had taken a strong liking to the young Southerner.
As it grew lighter those on the bosom of the gulf looked vainly for some sign of land or a sail, but hour after hour passed and nothing came to view but the waters under them and the mist and sky overhead.
"I am more than hungry," grumbled Tom. "I didn't get half enough to eat on that steamer and now I could lay into almost anything."
"Ditto here," answered his younger brother.
"Der poat must haf gone town," said Hans. "Of not, den da vould look aroundt and pick us ub, hey?"
"I don't believe Captain Fretwood would put himself out to look for us," answered Dick. "He hated our whole crowd and would gladly get rid of us."
A little later Sam shifted his position and chanced to place a hand in one of his coat pockets.
"Here's luck!" he cried. "Not much, but something." And he drew forth a thick cake of sweet chocolate, done up in tinfoil and paper.