“No,” I replied, “she is entirely out of sight.”
“What is to be done?” he asked.
“You have no water or provisions on board, I suppose?”
“Nothing but a beaker of water, and not a solitary biscuit.”
“How far is it to the nearest land?”
“About five hundred miles, I take it.”
“So I thought,” I answered.
And now I mused for a moment, the crews of the three boats resting on their oars, and looking eagerly at me. Every man knew, as well as myself, that, in all likelihood, we should never see the ship again: in which event a lingering death by starvation was our almost inevitable doom. On my decision, whether to pull after the ship, which would carry us further from land, or, abandoning the hope of meeting the ship, seek to reach the coast by the nearest route, hung, perhaps, our lives: and all were aware of this.
“Follow the squall,” I said, at last, turning my eyes to the dark cloud, now fast disappearing on the eastern horizon, “it is our only chance. If we don’t find the ship we are dead men. It is madness to think of reaching land.”
“I would to God the sun was a few hours higher!” said the lieutenant, looking at that luminary, which now hung, a blazing orb, a few degrees only above the horizon. “We haven’t even a lantern on board, to show a light!”