It seemed like some minutes before a word was uttered, and then it was the doctor who spoke.
“I haven’t caught sight of the boats lately,” he said. “It is evident that they have given up the chase.”
“Oh, uncle, uncle,” cried Rodd, “I was not thinking about them, but of those poor fellows in the brig. One of those last shots must have hit, and they have gone down.”
“Oh no,” cried Uncle Paul; “I saw her once again. Just now.—Yes, there she is, tossing wildly in the waves. She must be beyond the mouth of the harbour, and—”
“Yes, I see her! I see her!” cried Rodd wildly. “No, she’s gone again; but she was pitching and tossing horribly.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Paul. “It’s going to be hard work for them now, for the waves out there must be tremendous. Well, my boy, it was a daring attempt, and whoever they are let’s hope they may escape, but—”
Uncle Paul was silent, and once more the boy uttered a low groan.
Then no one spoke, but all stood straining their eyes to try and catch sight again of the vessel, which had seemed to be pitching wildly in the darkness; but they looked in vain, for all now seemed to be rapidly growing black.
The boy tried to speak, but no words would come, and even the waiter was silent, as he stood trying to catch sight of the vessel once more; but the darkness now was rapidly increasing, and though from time to time they could make out the faint outline of the lights, all seemed to become more dense and obscure, and the boy started violently as their guide suddenly exclaimed—
“It is no use now, sare. I sink she must have gone down.”