But they must have seen that something was wrong, and the skipper of that trader surely had a heart as hard as flint, to pass on as he did and make no sign. Many and many a ship at sea is thus left to perish, I am sorry to say.
An English ship too, undoubtedly.
“I would not have believed,” said Antonio, “that such cruelty could exist in the breast of a British sailor.”
Barclay was dumb.
For once in a way he was ashamed of his country.
. . . . . .
But Providence proved far more merciful than man, and in a few days’ time, to the intense joy of all on board, cats’-paws began to ruffle the heaving billows, and in less than an hour’s time a seven-knot breeze was blowing from the west-north-west.
It might not last long it is true, but every inch of canvas was set at once, and the anchor being up, away went the Zingara, steering eastward and south for the Canary Islands.
Once clear away from the great ocean of weeds, and all danger seemingly left far behind them, there was joy in every heart.
But, alas! the work was hard, for it was now watch and watch, and hardly even thus was there enough hands to work the ship.