“Now then, lads,” said Leslie, as the men came aft and began to cast off the gripes, “we have no time to lose. The sun will set in another ten minutes, and then it will very soon be dark. We must look lively, or we shall not reach that wreckage without having a troublesome search for it. Ah, that is all right,” as he stood on the rail and looked into the boat, “I see that her gear is all in her, and that you have kept her tight by leaving some water in her. We may as well get rid of that water before we lower her.”
And so saying, he stepped into the little craft, and, pulling out the plug, allowed the water to run off.
“We are all ready for lowerin’, sir,” sang out one of the men, presently.
“Then lower at once,” answered Leslie, as he pushed back the plug into its place, “and then jump down into her as quickly as you like.”
In another moment the boat squelched gently into the water; the men tumbled over the brig’s low side into her and unhooked the tackle blocks; the man who was going to pull the bow oar raised it in his hands and with it bore the boat’s bow off the ship’s side; the other three men threw out their oars; and Leslie crying, “Give way, men,” as he grasped the yoke lines, the little craft started on her errand of mercy, heading straight for the wreckage, the bearings of which in relation to the fast setting sun, Leslie had very carefully taken just before the boat was lowered.
It was at this moment absolutely a flat calm; there was not the faintest breath of air stirring anywhere in the great dome of cloudless sky that overarched the brig; the swell had subsided until it was scarcely perceptible; and the whole surface of the sea gleamed like a polished mirror, faithfully reflecting the rich blue of the sky to the eastward—against which the commonplace little brig, illumined by the brilliant ruddy orange light of the setting sun, glowed like a gem of exquisite beauty—while away to the westward it repeated with equal fidelity the burning glories of the dying day.
The sun was just vanishing beneath the horizon when Leslie caught his first glimpse of the raft from the stern-sheets of the boat, in which he stood, instead of sitting, in order that he might extend his horizon as much as possible. For the next five minutes he was able to steer by the glow of the sunset in the sky; but by the end of this time the glow had faded to a tender grey, and the night descended upon them almost with the rapidity of a falling curtain. The western sky no longer afforded a beacon to steer by, and Leslie found himself obliged to turn round and steer backwards, as it were, by the brig. But in the fast gathering gloom she soon became too indefinite an object to be reliable, Leslie was therefore obliged to face about once more and select a star for his guidance.
The men had been pulling with a will for a full half-hour when suddenly the man who was wielding the bow oar arrested his movements, holding his dripping blade just clear of the surface of the water, as he cried—
“Hark! did ye hear that, sir?”
“What?” demanded Leslie.