“He would be sure to interfere with us. I saw him scowling at me more than once this morning. You know he don’t like me.”
“Nor me, either, Jack. It will be well for both of us to keep out of his way.”
To the great delight of Clinton, more of his “wardrobe,” as he called it, was brought ashore. For this he was indebted to the good-natured persistence of Harry, who, though amused at the vanity of the young man from Brooklyn, felt disposed to gratify him in a harmless whim.
The two parties remained apart, the original company remaining with the captain, while four passengers and Jack Pendleton stayed with the mate. Captain Hill showed a disposition to claim Jack, but Holdfast said, quietly: “I think captain, Jack had better stay with me for the present, as he is company for Harry Vane.”
The captain looked dissatisfied, but was too tired to remonstrate at that time. He went to his own encampment, and indulged in liberal potations of brandy, which had the effect of sending him to sleep.
That night a violent wind sprang up. It blew from the sea inland, and though it did not affect the ship-wrecked parties or their encampment seriously, on account of their being screened by the intervening bluff, it had another effect which a day or two previous might have been disasterous. The ill-fated Nantucket was driven with such force against the reef that the strength of its hull was overtaxed. When the mate went to the bluff in the morning to take an observation, he was startled to find in place of the wreck a confused debris of timbers and fragments of the wreck.
As the mate was surveying the scene of ruin, Jack and Harry joined him.
“Look there, my lads!” said Holdfast. “That’s the last of the poor old Nantucket. She will never float again.”
They had known this before, but it was now impressed upon their minds forcibly, and a feeling of sadness came over the three.
“That settles it,” said Harry, giving expression to a common feeling. “We are prisoners on the island now, and no mistake.”