It was already dusk when he carried the box from the cabin and strode forward along the brig's desolate deck. Mounting to the forecastle, he climbed up on one of the guns, and, leaning over the stout bulwarks, peered down into the darkening sea, with its flickering, phosphorescent lights. The vessel was still drifting, drifting eastward with the ocean current, as she had been drifting for many days.
"It may never be found," the lad sighed, as he flung the box far out upon the waves. "And even if perchance it be picked up, nothing may come of it." He walked slowly aft again. "'Tis not for myself that I care," he mused; "I'd die like the rest of 'em. But the brig is the King's. She is in my charge, so to speak, and I must save her if I can."
He glanced aloft at the close-reefed maintop-sail and at the two storm staysails, and wished in his heart that he had the skill and strength to unfurl more canvas, and thus bring the vessel more speedily to land. Sail had been shortened in the gale of twelve days before, when there had yet been seamen alive and well enough to work the ship. But the gale had fallen to a calm, and now the few small sails that were set only served to keep the brig before the light breeze that came from the westward over the sea.
Ben walked aft to the helm, luffed the Aurora up to the wind, and again lashed the tiller. Then he went below to the cook's galley, where a fire was still burning, and lighted two lanterns. He left one of them on the deck outside the galley door, and taking the other in his hand, strode forward and descended to the lower deck.
Silently entering the petty officers' quarters, he approached one of the hammocks—the only one that was not empty—and gently rested his hand upon it. A slight movement satisfied him.
"How are you now, Mr. Avison?" he inquired, holding up the lantern.
The man turned and looked over the hammock's side. His face was unsightly with the eruption of the terrible disease that had decimated the Aurora's crew.
"Thank'ee, Ben, I'm a bit easier now," he answered, in a thin, weak voice. "What's o'clock? 'Tis after sundown, I see."
"It's five bells in the first night watch," said Ben. "You've been asleep these two watches. Could you eat something, think you, quartermaster? There's a canful of soup in the galley. 'Twould do you a vast of good. I could warm it, if you'd take a drop. Will you?"
"Well, my lad," returned the quartermaster, "I might try to manage just a little, if you'd be so kind. But you're too weary to do cook's work now, sure. How long might it be since you had a rest?"