As an extra precaution they bound themselves together, and then fastened the same rope to the mast, knowing that a wave might board the lumbering brig at any moment and sweep everything on it that was not fastened, into the sea.
Occasionally, as the wreck climbed heavily to the summit of an enormous roller, they could catch a glimpse of the steamer’s lights; but as the hours dragged slowly on, these became less and less distinct.
Without doubt the whaleback was drawing slowly away from the wreck, and the worst of it was, those on the steamer probably did not suspect it.
The castaways had no means of showing their whereabouts by lights, and the steamer was too far away, and had been since the darkness shut down, for those aboard her to see the outlines of the brig. Therefore Caleb Wetherbee and his officers had no means of knowing that the steamer was traveling nearly two miles to the brig’s one.
Suddenly there was a flash of light from the steamer’s deck, and a rocket went hurtling upwards into the leaden sky, to fall in showers of sparks into the sea. It was a message of hope to the unfortunates on the brig—it was meant as such, at least—but they had no way of replying to it.
“Aren’t there any rockets aboard?” asked Brandon of the captain’s daughter.
“There may be, but I do not know where,” the girl replied; “and the cabin is half filled with water, too.”
“Never mind if it is; I believe I’ll try to find them. There must be something of the kind aboard.”
“Ye’d better stay here,” Swivel warned him anxiously. “I don’t like ter see ye git out o’ sight.”
“Don’t you think I can take care of myself?” Brandon demanded.