“What!” exclaimed Harry, shading his eyes, and gazing at her earnestly. “Do you really think she is the Steadfast? She is wonderfully like her, as far as I can judge at this distance.”
“I know every yard in her canvas, and the Steadfast she is, I am nearly as certain as that we three stand here!” said old Tom, his voice showing the unusual agitation he felt.
“If she is not, she is very like her,” observed Bass.
“Oh, she is—I am certain that she is the Steadfast!” cried Harry. “But I wish she were farther off the coast, or she may be driven on the rocks and lost after all.”
“There is a deep bay two miles on,” said Tom, “with a good entrance. It must be down on the chart, and it’s my belief the ship is standing for it. If the wind holds as it is now she will be safe.”
“I pray that the wind will hold, then!” cried Harry. “Oh, my dear father! I little thought to see him again, and Mr Champion, and the rest. I cannot believe that they will be lost, now that we are about to meet them.”
“God knows what is best—you must always remember that, Harry,” observed Tom. “It is our business, however, to pray for them. If He thinks fit He will grant our prayers; and even though He does not as we may wish, we must not doubt His justice and mercy.”
Right earnestly Tom and his young companions, as they knelt on the ground, offered up their prayers for the safety of the ship, and then hurried on towards the harbour of which Tom had spoken.
The wind continued increasing. They saw first one sail and then another furled till the ship stood on under close-reefed topsails. They hurried forward, every now and then getting a glimpse of her as they reached some elevation overlooking the sea.
They met several natives, who seemed to sympathise in their anxiety, and accompanied them towards the harbour.