The widow raised her head, and exclaimed, “I too have lost much that was precious, and which no money could ever purchase. But, so far, God has watched over us and preserved our lives, and I can well spare all else—all else—if He will but leave me this treasure.” She wept as she bowed her head over her child.
“Let us not murmur, Mr. St. Aubyn,” said the General softly, “but call upon Him who rebuked the winds and waves in the sea of Galilee, and calmed them. Have not we His disciples’ faith? He is in our midst, watching over us, even as we sit now. This ocean is but the symbol of His majesty and might: His servant who will bear us safely on its bosom at its Lord’s command. Our Saviour sleeps not, neither will He forsake us. We forget Him when we yield to our fears.”
“Thank you for those words, sir,” said the man named Johnson. “God don’t forget those who are at sea any more than those who stop on shore. I have been worse off nor this, sir, lashed to a raft for forty-eight hours, and here I am to tell the story. Begging your pardon, sir,” he added, touching his cap, and drawing back respectfully.
By this time the boats had drifted some distance apart; but the voices talking in them could still be heard with the utmost clearness, so exquisite a vehicle of sound is the smooth surface of water.
It was one o’clock by Holdsworth’s watch when they beheld the horizon in the east darkening under what resembled the shadow of a cloud, and the voice of a man in the long-boat came across the water, crying, “A breeze at last, my boys!”
It was a light breeze, and moved very slowly, but it filled the sails and sent the boats rippling gently through the water. As it came foul of the course the skipper meant to take, they lay as close to it as they could; and eyes were strained in its direction for the welcome sail, some of them whispered, it might bring along with it. Some white clouds came up, and as they soared about the horizon, they so closely resembled the sails of ships that even Holdsworth’s experienced eye was deceived, and he gazed intently with a beating heart.
The breeze freshened, and the unequal sailing qualities of the boats manifested themselves. The long-boat drew ahead rapidly; Holdsworth’s came next; the other two fell astern. The wind, though in reality light, seemed tolerably strong, owing to the boats sailing close to it. Holdsworth’s boat lay over, which terrified St. Aubyn, and made him cling to the weather-gunwale.
“You’re afeard rather early, sir,” said one of the seamen—Winyard—sarcastically.
“The boat will turn over!” gasped the actor.
Indeed his fear and despair were pitiable, and had not only dulled his eyes, but pinched and thinned his face as though he were fresh from a sick bed.