“If we’re not sighted and picked up we’ll be in a bad fix, old fellow.”
“I’m afraid so. I guess we’re the sole survivors.”
“Yes, poor fellows. One can’t help feeling sorry even for that rascal Hoeseason.”
The boat, a small, not over tight ship’s yawl, swung on the top of a high wave. The boys eagerly took advantage of this to gaze out over the crests of the tossing water-mountains.
But the heaving, steel-gray sea was vacant of life. All they could see was a vast expanse of mighty rollers, desolate and cold under a leaden sky. They exchanged blank looks.
“Bill, old fellow, we’re up against it,” came from Jack.
“Well, I’ve known times when things looked considerably brighter,” admitted Bill dolefully.
CHAPTER XXII.
A NIGHT OF ALARMS.
Castaways on the open sea in a boat without water, food or oars!