At times the breeze would come, and, the sails filling, the boats sped onwards, but the few miles they made before the wind again dropped seemed as nothing in the immensity of the watery space around, and at last, half-delirious with the heat, after being reduced to a few drops of warm water each day, the sun went down like a great globe of fire, and Dutch Pugh felt that the time had come when they must die.
A re-arrangement of the occupants of the boat had long been made, so that both Dutch and Meldon were by those they loved, and now it seemed that the nuptial bed of the latter would be that of death. Hope seemed long before to have fled upon her bright wings, leaving only black despair to brood over them like the eternal night. Hardly a word was spoken in either boat, and once more the rope had been passed from one to the other so that their desolate state might not become more desolate by parting company during the night.
The night in question had fallen as black as that when the schooner was blown away, but no one heeded it, neither did they listen to the ravings of poor Wilson, who lay back in the stern sheets talking of his birds, and calling some particular pet by name. Then he would whisper Bessy’s name, and talk to himself constantly about his love for her, till at last the poor girl would be roused from her state of lethargy, and laying her head on Meldon’s breast sob for a few minutes—dry hysterical sobs—and then subside once more. Oakum sat twisting up a piece of yarn, crooning scraps of old songs, and ’Pollo would now and then, in a half-delirious fashion, try to sing the fragment of a hymn; but these attempts had grown now more and more spasmodic, and with the knowledge bluntly felt now that they had but a few fragments to support them on the following day, and no water, all sat or lay in a kind of stupefied despair, waiting for the end.
Upon Dutch Pugh had of late fallen the leading of the little party, for Captain Studwick had been taken ill from over-exertion with his oar beneath the burning sun, and before dusk Dutch had directed a longing gaze round the horizon in search of a sail, but in vain; and now he sat with Hesters head resting upon his lap, her large bright eyes gazing up into his, as longingly and full of love as ever, till, in the madness of his despair, as he saw her dying before him, he had strained her wasted form to his breast, and held her there when the darkness fell.
“Is there no hope, Dutch?” she whispered to him, faintly, as her lips rested close by his ear.
“Yes, always—to the last, darling,” he whispered.
“I am not afraid to die,” she whispered back; “it is for you. If I could only save your life.”
He covered her lips with his kisses, and her arms passionately embraced his neck, till a kind of heavy stupor fell on both, even as on all the others in the boat. The rest of the food was eaten next day, and then they sank back in their places to die.
But their fate was not that of Lauré, whose boat was never seen again. ’Ere another day had passed, a fast steamer sighted them where they lay, and bore down upon them as ’Pollo, the only one with strength enough left, hoisted a handkerchief upon one of the oars and held it aloft.
It was but just in time, and long and energetic was the attention required before the little party was out of danger, and by that time the port of Southampton was reached, and the next day—home.