“Sail in sight!”
Chapter Seventy Five.
By the Signal-Staff.
“Sail in sight!”
Three little words, but full of big meaning, of carrying the question of life or death.
To the ears of that starving crew sweet as music, despite the harsh Teutonic pronunciation of him who gave them utterance.
Down drops the pannikin, spilling out the shells; which they have hopes may be no more needed.
At the shout from above, all have faced towards the sea, and stand scanning its surface. But with gaze unrewarded. The white flecks seen afar are only the wings of gulls.