“Yes, sir,” answered Harry, soberly.
“Don’t tell our foppish friend below, or he’ll rend our ears with his howls. But you, my young friend, it’s rather rough on you. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And I’m rising fifty. Even if I am taken away, I’ve a good thirty years the advantage of you. I’ve had a good time, on the whole, and enjoyed myself as well as the average. Still, I don’t quite like going to the bottom in the Nantucket. I was looking forward to at least twenty years or so more of life.”
“We must submit to the will of God,” said Harry.
“You are quite right, my boy! It is easy to see that you have been well trained. Mr. Holdfast”—for they had reached the place where the mate was standing—“shall we outlive the storm?”
“It is hard to say, Mr. Stubbs. It depends on the stanchness of the ship. We’ll do all we can.”
Ten minutes later there was a sinister answer to the inquiry of Mr. Stubbs. A sailor, who had been sent down into the hold, came with the information that the ship had sprung a leak.
Then commenced the weary work at the pumps. The sailors were already worn out with fighting the storm under the direction of the captain and mate, and it seemed almost more than flesh and blood could stand to undertake the additional labor.
Harry and Mr. Stubbs had a hurried conference.