The hours passed, and no one came to our relief.
The unfortunate men, whose only pleasure, I might almost say comfort, consisted in an hour spent in the open air, began to complain bitterly, and ask us again and again why the necessary exercise was forbidden them.
“We have no reason to suppose that you will not be taken on deck,” Simon said, petulantly, after the question had been asked a dozen times. “Unless there may be a chance of taking another prize, some of the crew must surely be here very soon.”
These words of my comrade served to explain to my satisfaction why we had been left so long alone.
Beyond a question something had come in sight, and the America was in close pursuit, which would explain why the Britishers were denied their brief time of comparative liberty.
It seemed to me as if it must be two or three hours past noon, when a voice from the hatch which led into the hold cried out:
“Here’s your grub, lads! Come up an’ get it!”
Quickly I ran to the foot of the ladder, shouting Mr. Fernald’s name at the full strength of my lungs, for although it seemed impossible one of the mates would have performed such a task as bringing food from the galley, the voice sounded strangely like his.
No reply was received to my outcries, and when I gained the top of the ladder the gun-deck was deserted.
Nearby the hatchway were the pannikins of food; but I gave no heed to them as I stood gazing around me, rapidly giving way to fear and apprehension.