“Who has got a knife?”
Every person felt in his pockets, but no knife could be found. The seamen, strange to say, had come away without theirs; they and the midshipmen attempted to cast off the sheets, but the side of the boat to which they were made fast being under water could not be reached. For some time no one spoke; at the distance they were from the ship they could not hope to have been seen.
“Is there no chance of our drifting on shore?” asked Norris at length.
“I am afraid not,” answered Mr Houghton. “The current sets away from the land, and we shall be carried farther and farther from it.”
They looked anxiously around for a sail, on the chance that she might pass near them. Not one was to be seen standing towards the land. Again a desperate attempt was made to right the boat.
“If we had but a knife we could do it,” cried Tom. “I will never again step into a boat without one.”
“We shall be fortunate if we have the opportunity,” observed McTavish. “There is but little chance of our being picked up, and as to any of us reaching the shore that seems impossible.”
No answer was made to his remark. The squall which had capsized the boat was succeeded by others. The weather was evidently changing for the worse, and the boat drifting farther and farther from the land. Their prospects were dreary in the extreme, indeed almost hopeless. The gunwale of the boat on which they were seated was only six inches out of the water, so that should a sea get up they might all quickly be washed away.
Norris felt very unhappy, as he had been at the helm. “I hope that you fellows will forgive me,” he said. “I little expected the boat to capsize so suddenly, though I ought to have kept a better look-out.”
“Don’t talk about it,” answered Tom. “It was as much our fault as yours. We have each of us much to ask forgiveness for if we were to count up old scores.”