"But it may be that Captain Blastblow has not blown his blast entirely in vain, and may have been able to get more speed out of the Islander than anybody else has," I suggested.
"But the pilots said she was only half an hour or so ahead of us. She got off at least an hour ahead of us; and if we have not been gaining on her, she ought to be about ten miles ahead," argued Washburn. I was willing to accept his logic, for we had been over the reasoning times enough to understand the case in precisely the same way.
"The fog is lifting, sir," reported the second engineer, who was doing voluntary duty on the top-gallant forecastle.
This was agreeable news, and all hands directed their gaze to the point where the Islander was believed to be. The gale was increasing in force every moment. Though I had no fears for the safety of the vessel, I knew how fearfully so small a steamer as the Sylvania leaped and rolled in a heavy gale, and I was not a little concerned about the comfort of my passengers. We had had a very thorough trial of her pitching and rolling in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and I did not like to subject the Shepards and the Tiffanys to any unnecessary discomfort.
"We are going to have a regular muzzler, Washburn," I said, after glancing at the barometer again.
"There isn't any doubt about that," he replied, laughing. "I wish we had no ladies on board."
"I was thinking of that myself, and I will go down into the cabin, and talk the matter over with our passengers," I replied. "Of course if we give up the chase of the Islander, we are not likely to come near her again. But Colonel Shepard and his family may decide that question."
I left the pilot-house and went aft. Though we were but a few miles from the land, there was a tremendous sea raging, and the Sylvania was pitching violently. I went down into the cabin and found the passengers trying to keep their places on the transoms. They were all exceedingly good-natured about the situation. Owen was making jokes, and the young ladies were laughing at them. Cobbington and Tom Sands had put the guards on the table, and were doing what they could to prepare for dinner.
"Why do you shake up the Sylvania so fiercely, Alick?" asked Owen.
"She is behaving very prettily just now; but I came down to tell you that it is likely to blow, and kick up an uncomfortable sea," I replied, looking at Mrs. Shepard, who seemed to be the most tried by the situation.