“Ay, ay, sir; ship the sweeps, my lads, and give way.”
There was not a breath of wind, but the growing coolness of the air told of morning being near, for in tropical climates the coldest hour of the twenty-four is ever that which precedes dawn.
The sweeps were long and clumsy, and as the royal which had been set as sail was wholly useless, the motion of the unwieldy raft was necessarily very slow. Two men were at each sweep, and there were four of them, yet the raft barely moved through the water. Captain Weber sat on a case, his head leaning on his hands, and his face turned towards the “Halcyon.”
The starlight was not bright enough to show the tears that rolled slowly down his weather-beaten cheeks. On a heap of sails, nestling by her husband’s side, his large military cloak thrown over her, sat Isabel, and she too was looking towards the dark mass of the sinking vessel. The seaman mourned his ship, the home of many years, the companion of danger of every kind; Isabel’s cheek was wet too, for she mourned a father’s loss, and her eyes were eagerly, turned to a dim, faint ray of light shining from one of the ports. She knew that it came from the cabin where her dead father lay. The sweeps fell with measured cadence into the water, the men pulling in stern silence, until they were about five hundred yards away, and then, without, any order from any one, they ceased rowing. The grey dawn was slowly breaking over the ocean as the brig gave one wild roll to port. She seemed unable to right herself, and those on the raft drew a long breath, as she partially did so. The water, in her hold rolled heavily forward. Down went her bows, down, down into the salt sea, as lurching heavily and slowly to starboard, she disappeared, the sea boiling in foam around her.
“My father! oh, my father!” cried Isabel, as she clasped her hands together and sprang forward, as though to join him, but her husband’s strong arm was round her, drawing her gently back.
“Give way, my lads, give way, the old barky’s bones are better there than if the crew of the accursed pirate schooner had trod her decks,” said the captain, deliberately turning his back on the spot, and passing the cuff of his coat over his eyes.
The sun rose in all its splendour over the Indian Ocean, sleeping quietly and calmly under its rays. There were plenty of sails, and an awning was constructed, which gave shelter to all, and slowly and wearily the day wore on.
So long as it remained calm there was no danger, and tedious as their advance was it remained but a question of time as to when the forty miles which separated them from the land should be passed. But night set in before half the distance had been overcome, and there was a dull moaning sound over the ocean, the sailors’ eyes telling them that the scud was flying from the westward, a wind which, if it set in, would infallibly blow them off land. All night long the men toiled at the heavy sweeps. They were fairly worn out with fatigue, some of them sleeping at the oars. The captain, his mate, and passengers all took their turn, but towards two o’clock the first puffs of the westerly gale were felt, and the captain, seeing the utter uselessness of prolonging the struggle, gave orders to ship the sweeps, and for the men to lie down. Isabel had long since cried herself to sleep, and on board the raft none but the captain and Hughes watched as morning dawned over the sea.