"Oh! we can't leave you, Uncle," said Elizabeth, with quivering lips. "No, we won't," cried Tommy, springing forward and clasping his arm.
"Now, my dears," replied the Captain with forced cheerfulness, "you promised to obey orders, you know. We can't save the ship. Water is pouring into her; the one chance is to get you safely afloat while we make a raft. You must go for my sake. There must be land hereabouts; you'll see it when the sun gets up, and I lay you won't be ashore an hour before we join you. Come along now, all's ready."
The Captain's firmness showed that further remonstrance was vain. He led them to the side where the dinghy had been lowered. Elizabeth was helped into it, and as she turned away, after embracing her uncle, she heard the first mate say--
"D'ye think there's room for young Dan, sir? He's no use to us."
The Captain hesitated for a moment. Three was a full complement for the little boat, and even the boy's light extra weight might be a source of danger. Mary, as she kissed her uncle, heard the boatswain growl--
"You may as well drown the lot; the dinghy can't take more than three nohow."
Then Tommy flung herself into her uncle's arms, and sobbed a good-bye.
"Now, my little lass," said he, "bear up. Brave's the word. There's One above will look after you. Good-bye? Nonsense! I'll see you soon, never fear. Now, steady--there you go--now, where's that boy?"
But Dan Whiddon, hearing the pessimistic boatswain's words, had slipped away in the darkness. The Captain called him, but he did not reappear.
"Well, perhaps it's as well," said the Captain. "Now, girls, don't tire yourselves out; lay by till daylight. God bless you!"
Elizabeth silently took the sculls, the other two crouched in the bottom of the boat, which drew slowly away from the ill-fated ship. After a little Tommy sprang up.
"Stop rowing, Bess," she cried. "It's no use going on in the dark. Keep close to the ship, so that we can see Uncle when he puts off on the raft."
Elizabeth rested on her oars. There was reason in what Tommy had said. For a time the girls could see the trembling masts of the ship in the moonlight, and dark figures moving about the deck; but presently the moon was obscured; some minutes passed before it again emerged from the clouds; and then, when the girls looked for the Elizabeth, there was not a trace of her to be seen.
The two younger girls were now sitting up in the boat, facing their sister. They looked with wild eyes into the darkness. The same terrible thought oppressed them all: had the barque gone down already? Had there been time for the construction of a raft? They dared not speak, lest their spoken fears should overwhelm them. Elizabeth sculled now in this direction, now in that, in the hope that it was merely distance that had removed the ship from sight. Now and again she rested on her oars and listened; but there was no sound in the breathless stillness, and she dipped her oars again; inaction was unbearable. So the three miserable girls waited for the dawn.
It came at last with almost startling suddenness. At one moment all the sky was indigo with gleaming spots; the next, the myriad spangles had disappeared, and the blue was covered with a curtain of grey. But daybreak did not bring with it the expected relief from suspense--a light mist hung upon the surface of the sea--a tantalizing filmy screen which the eye could not penetrate. The boat floated idly; again the girls eagerly strained their ears for sounds of voices, or creaking tackle, or working oars; but they heard nothing except the slow rippling of the sea against the side of the dinghy.
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"Pull, Bess," cried Tommy frantically. "We can't have come far. Row about; we must find the ship."
Elizabeth, though hope was dead within her, rowed this way and that, but everywhere was the encircling mist; there was no sign of vessel, raft or land.
"We had better wait until the sun is up," she said at last. "It will scatter the mist, and then we can at least see our way."
The air was growing warmer, with a damp clammy heat; but the girls shivered as they sat silent in the gently rocking boat. The
grey mist turned to a golden dust, and presently the sun burst through, putting the thinning vapour to flight. Now the girls eagerly
scanned the horizon as it widened, but neither hull nor sail stood out of the immense tract of blue. Tommy rose in the boat, to
see if she could then descry any dark patch upon the surface which might be a raft; but there was nothing. Her lips quivered as the meaning of this vast blankness forced itself upon her mind. For a few moments she stood with her back to her sisters; then turning suddenly, she said, with a laugh that was not very different from a sob--
"'There were three sailors of Bristol City.' I say, how should I do for the part of Little Billee?"
This sudden touch of comedy relieved the tension, as Tommy intended. The other girls smiled feebly, and Tommy, saying to herself, "I must talk, talk, or we shall all go mad," went on--
"Could I have a swim, do you think?" She flung off her macintosh. "It's getting hot."
"Oh, you mustn't think of it," said Mary; "these waters are full of sharks." "Well, then, let's have another breakfast. What have they given us?"
While Elizabeth was examining the provisions placed in the boat Tommy leant over the side and dashed handfuls of water over her face.
"There! Now I feel better," she said. "What is there, Bess?"
There were tins of biscuits, sardines, and condensed milk, a bottle of coffee extract, three tin cups, a spirit lamp, a small tin kettle, a tea-caddy half full, a small box of sugar, a large plum cake, some boiled bacon, and two gallon jars containing water.
"I am not hungry at present," said Elizabeth.
"Neither am I, but one must do something," said Tommy; "a cup of water and a slice of cake for me." They all took a draught of water, but only Tommy made any pretence of eating.
"Now, Bess," said Tommy as she gulped down her crumbs of cake, "we'll take turns to row. Uncle----" Her voice broke; she cleared her throat and continued--"Uncle said there must be land somewhere near, and he'll think us awful slackers if he gets there first."
"We can't tell which way to go," said Mary.
"Of course we can't, but we must choose a direction and stick to it, or we shall go round in a circle like a dog chasing its tail.
'O' a' the airts the wind can blaw
I dearly lo'e the West.'
Let's make for the west, and take our chance."
This suggestion was adopted. Elizabeth admired her small sister's pluck in being so determinedly cheerful. They turned their faces
to the sun, and for some time rowed steadily westward, each girl taking a spell at the oars. But as the day grew older the heat became intolerable and exertion painful, so they decided to rest until the evening. None of them any longer expected to see the raft, though none confessed it; all they hoped for was to find land. They were very much cramped in the little boat, but none grumbled about the discomforts. By and by it occurred to Elizabeth to rig up their macintoshes as a sort of awning, supporting it on the oars and the boat-hook, and this sheltered them from the worst effects of the sun. They made another spare meal in the afternoon, and when the
20
sun was between south and west they resumed their rowing. So far there had not been a sign of land; but Uncle Ben had certainly said that the ship had struck on a reef, and where there were reefs dry land could hardly be far away. This hope buoyed them up through the hot day.
The sun went down below the horizon with the suddenness general in the Southern Ocean. Once more darkness was upon them. With the return of night came a sense of forlornness and desolation of spirit. They fell silent, each brooding on the sad fate which had overtaken their uncle and them. The night was cold; enveloped in their