“What! Do you think the brig is going down?” cried Billy. “Dear me, how dreadful; can’t we get something to float upon?”
“As the water is rushing into her fearfully fast, I don’t see what chance there is of her floating,” answered Tom. “However, we will not give up all hope while she remains above water. Perhaps, when the squall is passed over, we may manage to scramble out along the masts and cut away the topgallant yards, and get hold of some of the gratings or spare spars to form a raft.”
“We must be quick about it, then,” observed Desmond; “for the old craft may go down at any moment.”
“While the wind is blowing as it is now, there is no use making the attempt,” said Tom. “She does not appear to me to have sunk lower than she did when she first went over. She has a light cargo, and will float longer than a vessel heavily laden.”
The midshipmen, however, could not talk much, for it was a difficult matter to make each other hear, what with the sound of the wind, and the sea dashing against the hull of the brig, while showers of spray fell over them. They could distinguish the figures of Casey and Peter, with another man holding on to the fore-rigging, but as yet they had been unable to exchange words with them, and were afraid to let go their hold, lest they should be washed off by the sea. The gale continued to blow furiously, and for two hours a perfect hurricane raged. It suddenly ceased, and the sea—though not so rapidly—began to go down. On this their hopes revived. Tom was anxious to ascertain Casey’s opinion, and made his way to the fore-rigging.
“I’d stick to the hull, sir,” answered Pat. “The brig has floated so long; she may float longer, and we had better wait until daylight before we attempt to make a raft. We may chance to slip off into the sea, or one of those savage sharks may be watching a chance to get hold of us.”
Tom followed Casey’s advice, and without much difficulty regained his former position. Never had a night appeared so long to any of the party. Notwithstanding their position, however, Billy was constantly dropping off to sleep, and Tom and Desmond had to hold him on, or he would to a certainty have fallen into the water. As the morning approached, the sea became perfectly calm. They would have been thankful for the breeze, which might bring some vessel to their succour. What hope could they have of surviving many hours on the bottom of the brig? The sun rose. Almost exhausted, the midshipmen could with difficulty hold on. As they turned their weary eyes in all directions, not an object was in sight.
“No land to be seen?” asked poor Billy.
“That may be a couple of hundred miles away, I fear,” answered Tom.
“Any vessel coming to our help?” again inquired Billy, who, stretched on the rigging, could not lift his head.