"What, sir, what?" asked Tom, anxiously.
"Heart sick and despairing," moaned Hislop letting his chin drop on his breast.
"Don't talk so, sir," said Lambourne, stoutly; "despair never found a place in the heart of a British sailor!"
"You are right, Tom; and perhaps I'll gather headway, and get to windward yet."
"Of course you will," replied Tom, cheerfully; "but here's a sea coming—together, lads—pull together!"
Despair might well have found a place in all our breasts at that awful crisis; but Tom's bluff and cheerful way prevented our hearts from sinking, though the hours of that awful night seemed dark and long.
Well, without compass, chart, or quadrant, there we were, ten in number, in an open boat, tossing upon a dark and stormy sea, enveloped in clouds, with the red lightning gleaming through their ragged openings, or at the far and flat horizon—ignorant of where we were, where to steer for, or what to do, and full of terrible anticipations for the future!
We were silent and sleepless.
My heart was full of horror, grief, and vague alarm, when I thought of my home—the quiet, the happy, and peaceful old Rectory, with all who loved me there, and whom I might never see again.
The hot tears that started to my eyes mingled with the cold spray that drenched my cheeks, and there seemed but one consolation for me, that my father, my affectionate and gentle mother and sisters, dear Dot and little Sybil, could never know all I had endured, or how I perished by hunger or drowning, if such were to be my fate.