"No," came through her colourless lips.
"There's not a ripple on the sea," I said; "and if they keep on pumping the water out, we'll—we'll get to land in time."
"Yes," she said, and held my hand a little tighter. After a while, "I wonder if we're very far from land."
"Nine hundred miles, I think I heard Mr. Wheeler say." She shuddered.
Mr. Wheeler was the first mate.
I looked across the wild waste of water, and shuddered too. So calm—so endless!
The men were working like galley-slaves down below, pumping turn and turn about, watch and watch. We saw the relieved gang come up bathed in perspiration. They were labouring for their lives, we knew.
Now and again some sailor, passing by, would say:
"Keep a good heart, little leddies," and look over his shoulder with a cheerful smile.
It made us cheer up too.