Bart was silent.
“She’s evidently been in a storm; her sails are gone; her rigging is every way. The crew have probably deserted her; and, yes, she is—there’s no doubt about it. I suspected it—I knew it.”
“She’s what?” asked Bart.
“Waterlogged!” said Bruce.
Bart turned his head and looked at her for a long time. He said not a word. At last he turned to Bruce.
“Well,” said he, “at any rate, we must board her. After coming so far, we can’t go back. Besides, we may find something.”
“Find something? Of course we shall,” said Bruce, confidently. “We’ll find lots of things. We’ll find barrels of pork, and beef, and bread, and other things besides, no doubt. When they left her, they would only take enough to last them till they got ashore. They must have left the greater part of their supplies and sea stores behind.”
“Of course,” said Bart; “so here goes.”
And with these words he pulled as vigorously as though he had not yet rowed a stroke.
And now every minute they drew nearer and nearer. Bart rowed without turning his head, but Bruce sat with his eyes fixed upon her, occasionally telling Bart when he got out of his course.