At the end of an hour the dark hulk of the Libertador had faded from view, and no more did the shouts of the exasperated men on board reach their ears, while they, feeling the fearful strain upon them, moved slowly through the water, hope slowly dying out in their breasts.
"We shall not find them!" declared Ronie.
"We must!" said Jack. "Let's shout to them again, now, together:
"Boat a-h-o-y!"
As they had done a dozen times before without receiving any welcoming reply, they sent their united voices far out over the sea, shimmering now in the starlight. Still no response—no sound to break the dreadful silence of their watery surroundings.
"My old arms are not quite tired out yet, lad; hold upon me."
"No—no, Jack. I am young and strong. I can bear up a while longer. If I only knew Harrie had escaped I should feel better."
"We can only hope that they have, and fight for our lives a little longer."
Nothing more was said for some time, while they continued their battle with the sea, each stroke of the arm leaving them a little weaker, until it seemed to the castaways that they could not hold up much longer.
"The race is almost over, lad," said Jack, at last. "I feel worse for you than for myself. You have been a true boy. It does not matter so much with an old wornout veteran like me, but you are——"