“Not for myself,” said the young girl quietly “only for those to whom life is precious.”
At a quarter to eight we heard the boatswain calling to the sailors in the bows.
“Ay, ay, sir,” said one of the men—O’Ready, I think.
“Where’s the whale boat?” shouted the boatswain.
“I don’t know, sir. Not with us,” was the reply.
“She’s gone adrift, then!”
And sure enough the whale-boat was no longer hanging from the bowsprit; and in a moment the discovery was made that Mr. Kear, Silas Huntly, and three sailors,—a Scotchman and two Englishmen,—were missing. Afraid that the “Chancellor” would founder before the completion of the raft, Kear and Huntly had plotted together to effect their escape, and had bribed the three sailors to seize the only remaining boat.
This, then, was the black speck that I had seen during the night. The miserable husband had deserted his wife, the faithless captain had abandoned the ship that had once been under his command.
“There are five saved, then,” said the boatswain.
“Faith, an it’s five lost ye’ll be maning,” said O’Ready; and the state of the sea fully justified his opinion.