“This is truly a deserted sea, to be abroad in, on a raft! Were we in the narrow passages between the British islands and the Main, or even in the Biscay waters, there would be hope that some trader or roving cruiser might cross our track; but our chance here lies much between the Frenchman and the brigantine.”
“The enemy has doubtless seen and heard the explosion, and, as the land is so near, they will infer that the people are saved in the boats. Our chance of seeing more of them is much diminished by the accident of the fire, since there will no longer be a motive for remaining on the coast.”
“And will your young officers abandon their captain without a search?”
“Hope of aid from that quarter is faint. The ship ran miles while in flames, and, before the light returns, these spars will have drifted leagues, with the ebbing tide, to seaward.”
“Truly, I have sailed with better auguries!” observed the Skimmer—“What are the bearings and distance of the land?”
“It still lies to the north, but we are fast setting east and southerly. Ere morning we shall be abeam of Montauk, or even beyond it; we must already be some leagues in the offing.”
“That is worse than I had imagined!—but there is hope on the flood?”
“The flood will bear us northward again—but—what think you of the heavens?”
“Unfavorable, though not desperate. The sea-breeze will return with the sun.”
“And with it will return the swell! How long will these ill-secured spars hold together, when agitated by the heave of the water? Or, how long will those with us bear up against the wash of the sea, unsupported by nourishment?”