In the other boats the men talked, and often called to one another. Their voices sounded forced and unreal as the tones floated across the water, and in a strange manner heightened the unspeakable sense of solitude inspired by the boundless and tenantless deep.
For some time the little boy appeared to share in the feelings which held all but the two sailors in Holdsworth’s boat silent; but he presently grew restless, and pulling his mother by the skirt, asked her in a whisper when the ship was coming back to take them on board again.
“Another ship will come and take us soon, pray God, Louis,” answered the mother.
“But where is our ship, mamma?”
Holdsworth overheard the question, and answered in his hearty, cheery manner:
“Look well about you, Louis, and, by-and-by, you will see a tiny spot of white rise somewhere on that clear circle,” pointing round the horizon, “and that will be our ship coming to take us home.”
“Oh, Mr. Holdsworth!” said the actor, in a faint voice, “if the wind rises, will not the water get into our boat and sink it?”
“Not if I can help it, sir. I am waiting for the wind to rise. There is no chance of a rescue in this calm.”
“Though we should be grateful for this calm,” exclaimed the General, “for it has enabled us all to leave the sinking ship in safety.”
“I have lost my all in that ship—all the money I had in the world, and my clothes, and things that were priceless to me,” moaned Mr. St. Aubyn.