Bart was silent for a few moments. At length he said,—
“I should like to see some signs of life there, I must say.”
“Well, we’ll know all about her by the time you’re through your next pull.”
Bruce now rowed, and Bart sat with his eyes fixed on the ship. She still lay as low in the water as ever, but they could see her bulwarks plainly, and her cabins. Her rigging seemed as disordered as ever, and it was a puzzle to Bart, why, in this calm weather, she should be so neglected. Various unpleasant thoughts arose in his mind, but he kept-them to himself. Thus the time passed, and Bruce rowed, and the boat drew steadily nearer. At length he gave the oars over to Bart, and took his seat in the stern.
By this time they were not more than a mile from the ship. She was certainly very low in the water. At a distance they had supposed that her sails were furled. They could now see that she had no sails at all. There was her jib, and that was all. There was no sign of life aboard, and the disorder in her rigging was more perceptible than ever.
“Bart,” said Bruce in a solemn tone, after he had gazed silently at the ship for full ten minutes.
“Well?”
“Do you know what I think about her?”
“What?”
“It’s my opinion that there’s not a soul on board of her.”