Gradually the stranger’s topgallant-sails, and then the heads of her topsails, rose above the horizon.
“She’s a large ship, no doubt about that,” said Nettleship. “Cheer up, lads! my belief is she’s English, but we shall be better able to judge when we see her courses.”
We were now steering west-and-by-north, so as to cut her off. After going some distance, Nettleship called to Tom Pim to stand up in the stern-sheets, and take a look at the stranger.
“What do you think of the cut of her canvas, Tom?” he asked. “Is that English or French?”
“I should say English,” answered Tom, “but we must get nearer to be certain.”
“Have you made up your minds to a French prison, lads, if we’re mistaken?” again said Nettleship.
“Better a French prison with food and water, than out here starving to death,” answered the men. “And we’ll ask you, Mr Nettleship, for a drink of water apiece. We’ll get aboard her before dark, and our throats are terribly dry.”
“I warn you, lads, that a breeze may spring up, and that even now we may miss her; and what shall we do if we have no water left?” said Nettleship.
Still the men cried out for water. I could judge how my companions felt by my own sensations. Nettleship reluctantly served out a double allowance, leaving scarcely a quarter of a bottleful,—the other had before been exhausted. The sun was sinking low, and we had not yet seen the hull of the ship. Nettleship looked more anxious than before. The men strained every nerve, for they believed that their lives depended on their getting up to the ship before dark.
Some of them now called out for food, and declared that they could pull no longer without it; others asked for the remainder of the water.