With wistful glances they had watched the sun sinking over the sea. The point where the golden luminary disappeared from their sight was due westward,—the direction in which they desired to go. Could they have only been at that moment where his glorious orb was shining down from the vertex, they would have been upon dry land; and, O what a thrilling thought is that of firm stable earth, to the wretched castaway clinging upon his frail raft in the middle of the endless ocean!
They were discouraged by the dead calm that reigned around them; for every breath of the breeze had died away before sunset. The surface of the sea was tranquil even to glassiness; and as the twilight deepened, it began to mirror the millions of twinkling stars gradually thickening in the sky.
There was something awful in the solemn stillness that reigned around them; and with something like awe did it inspire them.
It was not unbroken by sounds; but these were of a character to sadden rather than cheer them, for they were sounds to be heard only in the wilderness of the great deep,—such as the half-screaming laugh of the sea-mew, and the wild whistle of the boatswain-bird.
Another cause of discouragement to our castaways,—one which had that day arisen,—was the loss of their valuable dried fish.
It is true that only a portion of their stock had been spilled into the engulfing ocean; but even this was a cause of regret; since it might not be so easy to make up the quantity lost.
While angling among the albacores, with the prospect of making a successful troll, they had thought less of it. Now that these fish had forsaken them,—leaving only three in their possession,—and they were in doubt whether they might ever come across another “school,”—more acutely did they feel the misfortune.
Their spirits sank still lower, as the descending twilight darkened around them; and for an hour or more not a cheerful word was heard or spoken by that sad quartette composing the crew of the Catamaran.