The four boys rowed a couple of hundred yards away from the burning brig and then rested on their oars and watched the destruction of the ship on which they had expected to go to South America. She was entirely enveloped in flames now and presented a wonderful but terrible sight as she was rapidly being devoured by the hungry fire.
All the occupants but one of the boat watched the fire. That one was Sam. He still remained huddled in the bow and never once did he look back. He moaned and groaned and raved until the rest of the party began to think that perhaps he was losing his mind.
Farther and farther from the burning ship drifted the tiny boat. All that the crew of it could do was to keep the stern straight into the waves and straighten her out when a great roller sent them flying. Lower and lower appeared the hull of the Josephine, when an occasional glimpse could be had of her from the crest of some huge wave. At length she disappeared, entirely burned to the water’s edge, and thus came the end of another brave ship. One more was added to the great ocean graveyard, already thick with the bones of many a gallant merchantman.
“She’s gone,” said George soberly.
“Yes,” said John, “and what’s going to happen to us?”
“We may be picked up,” exclaimed Fred hopefully.
“And we may not,” added Grant.
“Do you know where we are?” he asked of Petersen.
“I’ve no idea,” was the answer. “Somewhere near the West Indies, or maybe we’re right in them now for all I know.”
“Then we’ll soon find land,” said Fred as cheerfully as was possible under the circumstances.