“Now, raise your voices together;—this is the final chance!”
They united in a common shout, with the exception of the ‘Skimmer of the Seas.’ The latter leaned against the top with folded arms, listening to their impotent efforts with a melancholy smile.
“It is well attempted,” said the calm and extraordinary seaman when the clamor had ceased, advancing along the raft and motioning for all to be silent; “but it has failed. The swinging of the yards, and the orders given in waring ship, would prevent a stronger sound from being audible to men so actively employed. I flatter none with hope, but this is truly the moment for a final effort.”
He placed his hands to his mouth, and, disregarding words, he raised a cry so clear, so powerful, and yet so full, that it seemed impossible those in the vessel should not hear. Thrice did he repeat the experiment, though it was evident that each successive exertion was feebler than the last.
“They hear!” cried Alida. “There is a movement in the sails!”
“’Tis the breeze freshening;” answered Ludlow in sadness, at her side. “Each moment takes them away!”
The melancholy truth was too apparent for denial, and for half an hour the retiring ship was watched in the bitterness of disappointment. At the end of that time, she fired a gun, spread additional canvas on her wide booms, and stood away before the wind, to join her consort, whose upper sails were already dipping to the surface of the sea, in the southern board. With this change in her movements, vanished all expectation of succor from the cruiser of the enemy.
Perhaps, in every situation of life, it is necessary that hope should be first lessened by disappointment, before the buoyancy of the human mind will permit it to descend to the level of an evil fortune. Until a frustrated effort teaches him the difficulty of the attempt, he who has fallen may hope to rise again; and it is only when an exertion has been made with lessened means, that we learn the value of advantages, which have perhaps been long enjoyed, with a very undue estimate of their importance. Until the stern of the French frigate was seen retiring from the raft, those who were on it had not been fully sensible of the extreme danger of their situation. Hope had been strongly excited by the return of dawn; for while the shadows of night lay on the ocean, their situation resembled that of one who strove to pierce the obscurity of the future, in order to obtain a presage of better fortunes. With the light had come the distant sail. As the day advanced, the ship had approached, relinquished her search, and disappeared, without a prospect of her return.
The stoutest heart among the group on the raft began to sink at the gloomy fate which now seemed inevitable.
“Here is an evil omen!” whispered Ludlow, directing his companion’s eyes to the dark and pointed fins of three or four sharks, that were gliding above the surface of the water, and in so fearful a proximity to their persons, as to render their situation on the low spars, over which the water was washing and retiring at each rise and fall of the waves, doubly dangerous.—“The creature’s instinct speaks ill for our hopes!”