They were just visible to an eye elevated several inches above the surface; and Snowball was obliged to buoy himself into an erect attitude,—like a seal taking a survey of the circle around it, or a dog pitched unexpectedly into a deep pond,—before he could see them.
He saw them, however; he knew what they were; and, without a moment’s pause or hesitation, he recommenced cleaving the water in a line leading directly towards them.
The mind of the Coromantee, hitherto distracted by conflicting emotions, had now but one thought. It was less purpose than a despairing instinct. It was to support the child who had been intrusted to him—the Lilly Lalee—above water as long as he should have strength; and then to go down along with her into that vast, fathomless tomb, that leaves no trace and carries no epitaph!
Chapter Thirty Four.
The Sail out of Sight.
The sea-cook and the sailor were now swimming towards each other. It is true that Ben was not making very rapid way, nor did Snowball return on his course with any great alacrity. Despair had rendered the latter somewhat irresolute; and he scarcely knew why he was swimming back, unless it was to be drowned in company with the others; for drowning now appeared their inevitable fate.
Slowly as both swam, they soon came together,—the countenances of both, as they met, exhibiting that fixed, despairing look which bespeaks the utter extinction of hope.
The Catamaran was now at such a distance, that even could she have been suddenly arrested in her course, and brought to an anchor, it was doubtful whether either Snowball or the sailor could have reached her by swimming. The raft itself and the water-casks lashed around it were no longer to be seen. Only the white sail, that like a bit of fleecy cloud, equally fleeting, was fast lessening to a speck upon the distant horizon. No wonder that hope had forsaken them!