At the same hour as upon the preceding night—almost the same minute—the breeze again sprung up. It could be of little service—since there was no chance of our being carried by it to land—but it was cool and refreshing after the intense torrid heat we had been all day enduring.
Some were for spreading the sail; others saw no use in it. “What good can it do?” inquired these. “It may carry us a score of miles hence, or perhaps twice that. What then? It won’t bring us in sight of land—nor a ship neither. We’re as likely to see one by lying still. What’s the use of moving about? If we haven’t the wherewith to eat and must make a die of it, we may as well die here as a score of knots farther to leeward. Set your sail if you will—we won’t either hinder or help.”
Such language was used by the despairing part of the crew.
There were those who thought that by sailing, we should be more likely to fall in with a vessel. They thought they could not be worse, and might drift to a better place, where ships were more frequent—though they acknowledged that there were equal chances of their going away out of the track.
The truth is, that not one knew within hundreds of miles of where we were, and to sail in any course would have been mere guess-work.
By men in misery, however, motion is always preferred to rest; and the knowledge that you are going, and going forward, produces a soothing influence on the spirits. It begets a hope that you will come in sight of something that may aid you; and these hopes, however ill-founded, enable you to pass the time more lightly. On the contrary, by remaining in one fixed place, for a like period of time, you fret and chafe much more under the uncertainty.
With this feeling upon them, most of the men were in favour of bending the sail, and it was accordingly bent.
The night before it had been held aloft by several of the men—as the only object then had been to get the raft beyond reach of the swimmers. When that end was accomplished, the sail had been allowed to drop, and the raft had drifted a good distance without it.
To-night, however, a mast was raised—or rather, a pair of them—consisting of oars and handspikes spliced together—and between the two the canvas was extended, without yard, gaff, or boom. There was no design to manoeuvre the sail. It was just spread like a blanket, transversely to the raft, and left for the breeze to blow upon it as it listed. When this was done the raft was left to its own guidance, and, of course, drifted to leeward as fast as it could make way—apparently at the rate of three or four knots an hour.
The men once more resumed their recumbent positions, and all remained silent. Some fell asleep, and snored as though they were happy! Others slept, but their dream-talking told of troubled visions—recalling, maybe, dark scenes of guilt. A few seemed to lie awake all the live-long night—at intervals tossing about, as though kept on the alert by thirst, hunger, or the apprehension of approaching death.