Hobson Blowing up the Merrimac.
But it does not matter to us what the Spaniards thought. All we want to know is what became of Lieutenant Hobson and his daring men. Their little boat had been carried away by a Spanish shot, and they were swimming in the deep waters without knowing what would be their fate. On one side was the sea; on the other were the Spaniards: they did not know which would be the worst.
"I swam away from the ship as soon as I struck the water," said Hobson, "but I could feel the eddies drawing me backward in spite of all I could do. That did not last long, however, and as soon as I felt the tugging cease I turned and struck out for the float, which I could see dimly bobbing up and down over the sunken hull."
The float he spoke of was a sort of raft which lay on the ship's deck, with a rope tied to it so as to let it float. The rope pulled one side of it a little under the water, so that the other side was a little above the water.
This was a good thing for Hobson and his men, for Spanish boats were soon rowing out to where the ship had gone down. The eight men got under the high side of the raft, and held on to it by putting their fingers through the crevices.
"All night long we stayed there with our noses and mouths barely out of the water," says Hobson.
They were afraid to speak or move, for fear they would be shot by the men in the boats. It was that way all night long. Boats kept rowing about, some of them very close, but nobody thought of looking under the raft. The water felt warm at first, but after a while it felt cold, and their fingers ached and their teeth chattered.
One of the men, who thought he could not stand this any longer, left the raft and started to swim ashore. Hobson had to call him back. He came at once, but the call was heard on the boats and they rowed swiftly up. But they did not find the hiding place of the men and rowed away again.