She did look, and saw as I did—the boat under all sail, half a mile from the pool, staggering under a fresh breeze, which carried her away at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour.
They had left us—they had deserted us. I cried out, like a madman, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” and then, seeing how useless it was, I dashed myself on the rock, and for a minute or two was insensible.
“Oh!” groaned I, at last, as I came to my senses.
“Frank Henniker,” said a sweet firm voice.
I opened my eyes, and saw Mrs Reichardt standing by me.
“It is the will of Heaven, and you must submit to it patiently,” continued she.
“But so cruel, so treacherous!” replied I, looking at the fast-receding boat.
“I grant, most cruel, and most treacherous; but we must leave them to the judgment of God. What can they expect from Him in the way of mercy when they have shown none? I tell you candidly, that I think we are better in our present forlorn state upon this rock, than if in that boat. They have taken with them the seeds of discord, of recklessness, and intemperance, in an attempt which requires the greatest prudence, calmness, and unanimity, and I fear there is little chance of their ever being rescued from their dangerous position. It is my opinion, and I thought so when I first knew they had found the cask, that liquor would prove their ruin, and I say again, that boat will never arrive at its destination, and they will all perish miserably. It has pleased God that they should leave us here, and depend upon it, it has been so decided for the best.”
“But,” replied I, looking again at the boat, “I was tired of being here—I was so anxious to get off—and now to be left! And they have taken all our provisions, everything, even the fish in the pool. We shall starve.”
“I hope not,” replied she, “and I think not; but we must exert ourselves, and trust to Heaven.”