No answer was returned.
“I fear the vessel must have gone down. We shouted to her to keep her luff, but no attention was paid, and she ran right under our bows,” said the officer.
“I’m not certain that she sank,” I answered. “She appeared to me to be capsizing, and I hope may be still afloat.”
“We will look for her, at all events,” said the officer; and he gave the necessary orders to bring the ship to the wind, and then to go about.
So dark was the night, however, that we might have passed close to a vessel without seeing her, though eager eyes were looking out on either side.
Having stood on a little way we again tacked, and for three hours kept beating backwards and forwards; but our search was in vain.
The vessel which had run down the hooker was, I found, H.M. brig of war Osprey, commander Hartland, on her passage home from the North American station.
“You have had a narrow escape of it,” observed the commander, who came on deck immediately on being informed of what had occurred. “I am truly glad that you have been saved, and wish that we had been able to pick up the crew. I have done all I can,” he said at length, “and I feel sure that if the hooker had remained afloat, we must have passed close to her.”
“I am afraid that you are right, sir,” I said, and I gave vent to a groan, if I did not actually burst into tears, as I thought of the cheery spirits of my faithful follower Larry being quenched in death.