“What do you mean?” said I, struck by his significant manner.
“You’ll know soon enough,” he answered.
What did he insinuate? The words, coming from a man usually so reserved, have haunted me all night.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
JANUARY 1st to 5th.—More than three months had elapsed since we left Charleston in the “Chancellor,” and for no less than twenty days had we now been borne along on our raft at the mercy of the wind and waves. Whether we were approaching the American coast, or whether we were drifting farther and farther to sea, it was now impossible to determine, for, in addition to the other disasters caused by the hurricane, the captain’s instruments had been hopelessly smashed, and Curtis had no longer any compass by which to direct his course, nor a sextant by which he might make an observation.
Desperate, however, as our condition might be judged, hope did not entirely abandon our hearts, and day after day, hour after hour were our eyes strained towards the horizon, and many and many a time did our imagination shape out the distant land. But ever and again the illusion vanished; a cloud, a mist, perhaps even a wave, was all that had deceived us; no land, no sail ever broke the grey line that united sea and sky, and our raft remained the centre of the wide and dreary waste.
On the 1st of January we swallowed our last morsel of biscuit. The 1st of January! New Year’s Day! What a rush of sorrowful recollections overwhelmed our minds! Had we not always associated the opening of another year with new hopes, new plans, and coming joys? And now, where were we? Could we dare to look at one another, and breathe a new year’s greeting?
The boatswain approached me with a peculiar look on his countenance.
“You are surely not going to wish me a happy new year?” I said.