This was soon done. They were about a couple of miles from the shore, and the tide was carrying them southward right away from the river at whose mouth the schooner had been ashore, for the water was perfectly clear here, while there it had been muddy and discoloured.
Getting a clear view northward as the sun rose higher, both Mark and Tom Fillot carefully scanned the horizon in search of the Nautilus, but she was not in view. There was a possibility of her being round a headland which stretched out some ten miles away, but that was all.
The next search was for the schooner; and, as she was nowhere in sight seaward, they had to content themselves with the possibility of her having taken refuge in some river or creek, such as were plentiful enough on the low-lying shore.
Mark thought of his previous experience in an open boat, as he looked at their position, lying there with a crew suffering from the effects of their encounter—two men seriously injured, and neither provisions nor water. As to weapons, some of the men had preserved theirs, but others were unarmed.
Tom Fillot watched his officer as he looked round, and then ventured an observation.
“Looks lively, sir, don’t it?”
“It’s horrible, Tom; but we must act, and at once.”
“Right, sir, and we’re ready. Four on us can take an oar well enough, if you’ll give the word.”
“We must row in shore and coast along till we come to a stream.”
“Not row out after the ship, sir?”