"We will breakfast," he answered.
And forthwith he made biscuit sandwiches of the pork, of which there still remained a good lump, a godsend. There was nothing much to elate him in the sight of the boat still safely lashed to the deck; he feared the open boat in mid-ocean with few provisions, little water, and an everlasting menace of weather, for blow it will if it does not blow now, and what sort of a time would they have had afloat in that boat last night?
Julia dredged her lover's face with her eyes but could not make out what was passing in his mind, because he himself did not know what was passing there.
"We must husband our stores," said he, "and wait for something to sight us."
Saying which he rose and stepped up a little ladder on to the top of the deck-house, directed by sailorly instincts to what he wanted, and there it was securely lashed to the iron stanchions of the low rail—a flag-locker. He opened it and took out the Red Ensign and carried it right aft, and bent it union down to the peak signal-halliards and hoisted it half-mast high, a signal of deep distress and death. Its rippling noise was pleasant, but the look of it was ghastly with its dumb appeal to a pitiless sea.
Julia stood beside him and sank her clear gaze far into the recesses of the ocean, and saw the sea line working and nothing more.
"Let's go and see if the galley has betrayed any secrets of food," said he.
The sluggish roll of the brig was no hindrance to feet accustomed to the bounding deck. They found the galley murdered; it was split and shivered, but the coppers to the stroke of the sea that slung them had spewed out a big lump of beef and a bolster of duff—the sailors' pudding—composed of dark flour and slush with here and there a currant, but not always. Hardy pounced upon the food as the adjutant lights upon the floating Hindoo.
"They left their dinner behind them," he said. "Good God! what a noble haul. Here is enough for a week with care."
"Is it cooked?"