“Is there no light?” said Morgan at last, after they had been rowing softly about for quite a quarter of an hour.
“No, not a spark,” whispered Mr Gregory. “I’ve tried to keep in the course by which the prau came when it passed us, but the darkness is so deceptive that we might as well be blind.”
Another ten minutes or so were passed and still they could not make out the tall spars and huge hull of the ship, while a feeling of despair began to come over Mark as he asked himself whether he should ever look upon those he loved again. He had never before realised the vastness of the ocean and how easy it was to go astray and be lost, for as minute by minute glided away, the search for the great ship became more hopeless, and the darkness that was over the sea began to settle down upon the young adventurer’s heart.
“I’m about done, major,” whispered Mr Gregory. “We’re just as likely to be going right away from her as to her.”
“A current must be setting strongly now at the change of tide,” said Morgan. “We shall have to wait for day.”
“And throw away our chance of doing some good!” said Mr Gregory pettishly. “Here you, Mark Strong, this dog of yours seems as if he could do anything. Do you think if we put him in the water he’d swim toward the ship?”
“If I let him go into the water he would begin to bark loudly,” whispered Mark.
“Ah! and do more harm than good,” said the major. “Now, look here, gentlemen: my wife and daughter are on board that ship, and we’ve got to find her, so let’s have no talk of giving up, if you please.”
“Give up, major!” said the first-mate with an angry growl; “don’t you run away with that idea. I’m not going to give up.”
There was so much decision in Mr Gregory’s tone and words that Mark’s heart grew light again, and the horrible picture his fancy painted of his father and mother being left at the mercy of the Malays once more grew dim.