“And the loss of that coal,” chimed in Jack. “No wonder you look glum, old fellow. We’ll never make port on what’s below.”
“Not a chance of it,” was the rejoinder, “about all we can do is to use the sails if the worst comes to the worst.”
“Well, as we don’t appear to have any port in view, and nothing to do but to keep on drifting about like another Flying Dutchman, I don’t see that it much matters where we fetch up,” commented Jack, with some irritation.
It was at that instant that there came an interruption. The voice of the sea-man at the look-out forward broke the spell.
“Where away?” came a hoarse voice from the bridge, that of Mr. Jolliffe, the first officer.
“Three p’ints on the starbo’d bow.”
“Let’s go forward and have a look,” suggested Jack. “You’re not on watch for some time yet.”
“I’m with you,” agreed Raynor. “Anything for variety’s sake. Wonder what ship it is?”
“Too far off to make out yet,” said Jack, as, far off, they could just about see, by straining their eyes, a small dark speck on the distant horizon.