“I don’t know what she is,” I said; “but there are only two people on deck—one forward and the other leaning half asleep over the wheel. Here, I’ll go and call those two back.”
“You’d call in vain,” said my uncle, as I replaced the glass in the case. “They’re beyond earshot, and you could not find them.”
“What are we to do then, uncle?” I said.
“Have breakfast, my boy. I want mine.”
“But those two poor fellows?”
“Well, they took fright, Nat. A guilty conscience needs no accuser. They had run from their ship, and the sight of one was enough to make them feel that they were being sought.”
“But we ought to do something, uncle,” I said.
“We can’t do anything but wait, my lad,” he replied. “There, don’t be uneasy; they’ll come back as soon as they’ve got over the scaring. I daresay we shall see or hear of them before night.”
My uncle’s words brought back the hungry feeling which had been swept away, and I saw to the breakfast, making the coffee and frizzling some slices of bacon, the meal being thoroughly enjoyable, eaten there in the shade of a great tree, while everything around looked beautiful in the extreme; and it was not until my morning hunger was nearly appeased that the flies and the flying thoughts of our late companions tormented me much.
Then they began to get worse; and in a fit of sympathy I felt ashamed of enjoying my meal so well while those two poor fellows were suffering from hunger and fear.