“But the Dryad, she is good four miles to the leeward of us, and the soundings decrease here so rapidly, that in an hour, with the sail she is under, she must go on shore.”
“She has no chance, that’s certain,” replied I. “I only hope it may be so thick that we may not see her.”
“Not a soul will be saved, sir,” replied the master, shuddering. “I should say it were impossible, Mr Hillyer; but we all owe Heaven a death; and if they go first and we go after them, at all events, let us do our duty until the time comes—but never despair. As long as there is life, there is hope; so now let us go on deck, and put as good a face on it as we can.”
Chapter Thirty Nine.
I returned on deck followed by the master. “The barometer is rising,” said I aloud, to the first lieutenant; “so I presume the gale will break about twelve o’clock.”
“I am glad to hear of it, sir; for we have quite enough of it,” replied the first-lieutenant.
“Do you see the Dryad?”
“No, sir; it’s quite thick again to leeward: we have not seen her these ten minutes.”