That the practice ship had been driven to a considerable distance by the gale was evident. That Captain Brookes would return and institute a thorough search for the lost boat was equally evident. But what hope was there that the launch—a microscopical dot on the infinite ocean—would be found?
And if the Monongahela did not turn up, what then?
There was not an ounce of food in the boat nor a drop of fresh water. The stores with which all man-of-war crafts are supplied, had been lost during the collision.
Clif looked toward the bow. It was shattered in the upper part and the timbers were slightly strained. The launch was fairly seaworthy still, but could it survive another gale?
Clif’s face was very grave as he turned his attention inboard again. The sail was set and everything ready for proceeding onward. A course was shaped for the distant object.
Clif glanced listlessly at it. He felt assured that it would prove to be either a capsized hull—a grim relic of some ocean tragedy—or a dead whale.
“We won’t lose much time in investigating,” he said to Trolley, who had come aft. “If it turns out to be what we expect, we’ll make tracks for the coast of Portugal.”
Half an hour later they were within fair sight of the object. As they neared it the five boys began to show signs of surprise and eager curiosity.
“Surely that isn’t the bottom of a ship,” said Joy.
“And him no whale, either,” chimed in Trolley.