“No, Mr Pearce, not until the fate of that vessel is decided.”
“Land on the weather-bow!” reported the boatswain.
“Indeed!” said the captain—“then the affair will soon be decided.”
The vessels still continued their course in a slanting direction towards the land, pursuer and pursued running on to destruction; but although various indirect hints were given by the first-lieutenant and others, Captain M— turned a deaf ear. He surveyed the dangers which presented themselves, and frowned upon them, as if in defiance.
Chapter Fifty Three.
An universal cry resounds aloud,
The sailors run in heaps, a helpless crowd;
Art fails, and courage falls; no succour near;
As many waves, as many deaths appear.
Ovid, (Dryden’s translation).
However we may be inclined to extend our admiration to the feelings of self-devotion which governed the conduct of Captain M— it cannot be a matter of surprise that the officers of the frigate did not coincide with his total indifference to self, in the discharge of his duty. Murmur they did not; but they looked at each other, at the captain, and at the perilous situation of the vessel, in silence, and with a restless change of position that indicated their anxiety. Macallan was below attending to the wounded men, or he would probably have been deputed by the others to have remonstrated with the captain. A few minutes more had elapsed, when the master again addressed him.
“I am afraid, sir, if we continue to stand on, that we shall lose the frigate,” said he, respectfully touching his hat.