It was blowing very hard when he stood near the wheel. A steep sea was already tumbling after the schooner, but she was, at least, heading out from where they supposed the ice to be, and he let her go, keeping her away before it, and heading a little south of east. When morning came the sea was very high, and the faint light further dimmed by snow, but it seemed to him just safe, and no more, to run, and they held on while the big combers came up astern and forged by, ridged with foam, high above her rail.
She was travelling very fast, to the eastwards, under boom-foresail and one little jib, with her mainmast broken short off where the bolts of the halliard blocks had traversed it, and Dampier realised that because of that every knot she made then could not by any means be recovered that season. He wondered, with a little uneasiness, what Wyllard would say when he came to himself again. In the meanwhile he said nothing, but lay like a log in his bunk, only that there was now a little warmth in him.
Next day the breeze moderated somewhat, and they let her come up a little, heading further south; while on the morning after that Wyllard showed signs of returning consciousness. Dampier, however, kept away from him, partly to allow his senses to readjust themselves, and partly because he rather shrank from the coming interview. At length, when dusk was falling, Charly came up to say that Wyllard, who seemed quite sensible, insisted on seeing him, and Dampier went down with some misgivings into the little cabin. The lamp was lighted, and when he sat down Wyllard, who raised himself feebly on his pillow, turned a pallid face to him.
"Charly tells me you picked the boat up," he said.
"We did," said Dampier. "She had three or four planks on one side ripped out of her."
Wyllard's faint grimace implied that this did not matter, and Dampier braced himself for the question he dreaded. He had to face it in another moment.
"How's she heading?"
"A little south of east."
Wyllard's face hardened. It was still blowing moderately fresh, and by the heave of the vessel and the wash of water outside he could guess how fast she was travelling. Except for the latter sound, however, there was for a moment or two an almost oppressive silence in the little cabin. Then Wyllard spoke again.
"You have been running to the eastwards since I was struck down?" he said.