But there was,—one more dreaded than either the opposition of the wind or the danger of straying from their course.
In all likelihood their pursuers had returned to the spot which they had forsaken; and might at that very moment be mooring their craft to the huge pectoral fin that had carried the cable of the Catamaran.
In view of this probability, the idea of returning to the dead whale was scarce entertained, or only to be abandoned on the instant.
Cheerless were the thoughts of the Catamarans as they sat pondering upon that important question,—how they were to find food,—cheerless as the clouds of night that were now rapidly descending over the surface of the sea, and shrouding them in sombre gloom.
Never before had they felt so dispirited, and yet never had they been so near being relieved from their misery. It was the darkest hour of their despondency, and the nearest to their deliverance; as the darkest hour of the night is that which precedes the day.
Chapter Ninety Seven.
A cheering Cup.
They made no attempt to move from the spot upon which the sun saw them at setting.