We were now considerably concerned for the safety of 'Enery and the boat's crew, for they were exposed to a great danger from the falling wreckage, till the gleam of the boat's lantern showed that they were at least still afloat.
At length the men rowed back to the brig, having sustained no damage, though their faces were blackened with the smoke and particles of dust that enveloped everything within half a mile of the burning vessel.
"No sign of anyone," reported 'Enery, as he came over the side, "though they may have taken to the boats long before we arrived."
"That's true," assented Captain Jeremy, "so keep the signal guns firing till dawn."
"'Tis well that there's no sea running," said the mate. "A few hours in an open boat will do no harm on a night like this, e'en though the air is sharp."
"Not if we pick them up," added Captain Jeremy; "but I should not wonder if they have already shaped a course for land. Yet do you keep the brig hove-to till daylight."
The day broke with a red, angry sky that betokened foul weather. The wind, hitherto light, began to strengthen, and an ominous swell presaged rough water within a few miles of us.
Sunrise revealed no trace of the boats of the ill-fated ship, so, ordering the Golden Hope to be again placed on her course, Captain Jeremy retired to his cabin to enjoy a well-earned repose.
Hardly had he turned in when, just as seven bells was striking, the look-out reported four boats ahead.
Instantly there was a rush to see what manner of craft they were, and it was soon evident that they were indeed the boats from the burning ship.