"Oh, I see."
"I think I shall have to cut their food down to half rations. We've been adrift nearly sixteen days now and not a smoke plume from the Vulcan. She has lost us—if she didn't founder."
"Any chance of meeting some other vessel?"
"Here in the ocean's graveyard?"
"Are we far in?" inquired Smith with rising concern.
"Close to three hundred miles, and getting deeper every day."
The two walked on mechanically, with the precise step of those who seek exercise. The rim of the sun cut the edge of the ocean and a long trail of light made the east difficult for their eyes.
"Any danger of starving?" questioned Caradoc, staring moth-like at the blinding disc of flame.
"Perhaps not," meditated Madden. "I've been thinking about it. As a last resort this seaweed is edible, at any rate certain species of it. The Chinese and Japanese eat it, but that isn't much of a recommendation to a European. Then the water is full of fish that come to nibble at the stuff."
Caradoc was obviously inattentive to this consoling information. "Yes," he murmured politely, "Japanese do nibble at the fish."