“We are not up to them yet,” was the answer. “I was at sea before you were born, young gentleman. Leave me to judge what is best to be done.”
Tom made no reply. “We have got a queer character to deal with,” he observed to Desmond. “However, we must try to manage him, although it will be a serious matter to us, as well as all on board, if we do not recover the poor captain and mate.”
No one turned in; indeed, all hands were required to put the ship about, and all night long she was kept on tack and tack without any answering signal. The doctor continued to fire at intervals one of the six-pounder guns on deck, but no signal was heard in return. When morning broke, the boatswain at length consented to heave to. Neither of the boats had been seen, and those on board began to despair. The gale showed no signs of abatement, while the sea had continued to increase. High-tossing waves, crested with foam, rose up around, while the sky was obscured by dense masses of dark clouds.
“Will your whaleboats live in a sea like this?” asked Tom of the boatswain, who in his character as commanding officer was standing aft.
“I guess they could, young man, if they are handled as we know how to handle them,” was the answer.
“Then we may still hope to find the captain and mate,” observed Desmond.
“If that whale did not smash up one of the boats with her flukes. If he did, twelve people would prove a heavy cargo in a sea like this, and she is likely enough to have been swamped.”
“I am afraid that some such accident must have occurred,” observed Tom.
“I guess you may not be far wrong,” was the unsatisfactory remark.
On going into the cabin for breakfast they found Doctor Locock resting his head on his hands, with his elbows on the table.