“From all which I am to infer that it is your intention,” said Wilder, calmly, “to abandon the wreck and your duty?”
The half-awed but still resentful mate returned a look in which fear and triumph struggled for the mastery, as he answered,—
“You, who know how to sail a ship without a crew, can never want a boat! Besides, you shall never say to your friends, whoever they may be, that we leave you without the means of reaching the land, if you are indeed a land-bird at all. There is the launch.”
“There is the launch! but well do you know, that, without masts, all your united strengths could not lift it from the deck; else would it not be left.”
“They that took the masts out of the ‘Caroline’ can put them in again,” rejoined a grinning seaman; “it will not be an hour after we leave you, before a sheer-hulk will come alongside, to step the spars again, and then you may go cruise in company.”
Wilder appeared to be superior to any reply. He began to pace the deck, thoughtful, it is true, but still composed, and entirely self-possessed. In the mean time, as a common desire to quit the wreck as soon as possible actuated all the men, their preparations advanced with incredible activity. The wondering and alarmed females had hardly time to think clearly on the extraordinary situation in which they found themselves, before they saw the form of the helpless Master borne past them to the boat; and, in another minute, they were summoned to take their places at his side.
Thus imperiously called upon to act, they began to feel the necessity of decision. Remonstrances, they feared, would be useless; for the fierce and malignant looks which were cast, from time to time, at Wilder, as the labour proceeded, proclaimed the danger of awakening such obstinate and ignorant minds into renewed acts of violence. The governess bethought her of an appeal to the wounded man, but the look of wild care which he had cast about him, on being lifted to the deck, and the expression of bodily and mental pain that gleamed across his rugged features, as he buried them in the blankets by which he was enveloped, but too plainly announced that little assistance was, in his present condition, to be expected from him.
“What remains for us to do?” she at length demanded of the seemingly insensible object of her concern.
“I would I knew!” he answered quickly, casting a keen but hurried glance around the whole horizon. “It is not improbable that they should reach the shore. Four-and-twenty hours of calm will assure it.”
“And if otherwise?”
“A blow at north-west, or from any quarter off the land, will prove their ruin.”
“But the ship?”
“If deserted, she must sink.”
“Then will I speak in your favour to these hearts of flint! I know not why I feel such interest in your welfare, inexplicable young man, but much would I suffer rather than believe that you incurred this peril.”
“Stop, dearest Madam,” said Wilder, respectfully arresting her movement with his hand. “I cannot leave the vessel.”
“We know not yet. The most stubborn natures may be subdued; even ignorance can be made to open its ears at the voice of entreaty. I may prevail.”
“There is one temper to be quelled—one reason to convince—one prejudice to conquer, over which you have no power.”
“Whose is that?”
“My own.”
“What mean you, sir? Surely you are not weak enough to suffer resentment against such beings to goad you to an act of madness?”
“Do I seem mad?” demanded Wilder. “The feeling by which I am governed may be false, but, such as it is, it is grafted on my habits, my opinions; I will say, my principles. Honour forbids me to quit a ship that I command, while a plank of her is afloat.”
“Of what use can a single arm prove at such a crisis?”.
“None,” he answered, with a melancholy smile. “I must die, in order that others, who may be serviceable hereafter, should do their duty.”
Both Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude stood regarding his kindling eye, but otherwise placid countenance, with looks whose concern amounted to horror. The former read, in the very composure of his mien, the unalterable character of his resolution; and the latter shuddering as the prospect of the cruel fate which awaited him crowded on her mind, felt a glow about her own youthful heart that almost tempted her to believe his self-devotion commendable. But the governess saw new reasons for apprehension in the determination of Wilder. If she had hitherto felt reluctance to trust herself and her ward with a band such as that which now possessed the sole authority, it was more than doubly increased by the rude and noisy summons she received to hasten and take her place among them.
“Would to Heaven I knew in what manner to choose!” she exclaimed. “Speak to us, young man, as you would counsel mother and sister.”
“Were I so fortunate as to possess relatives so near and dear,” returned the other, with emphasis “nothing should separate us at a time like this.”
“Is there hope for those who remain on the wreck?”
“But little.”
“And in the boat?”
It was near a minute before Wilder made any answer. He again turned his look around the bright and broad horizon, and he appeared to study the heavens, in the direction of the distant Continent, with infinite care. No omen that could indicate the probable character of the weather escaped his vigilance while his countenance reflected all the various emotions by which he was governed, as he gazed.
“As I am a man, Madam,” he answered with fervour “and one who is bound not only to counsel but to protect your sex, I distrust the time. I think the chance of being seen by some passing sail equal to the probability that those who adventure in the pinnace will ever reach the land.”
“Then let us remain,” said Gertrude, the blood, for the first time since her re-appearance on deck, rushing into her colourless cheeks, until they appeared charged to fulness. “I like not the wretches who would be our companions in that boat.”
“Away, away!” impatiently shouted Nighthead “Each minute of light is a week of life to us all, and every moment of calm, a year. Away, away, or we leave you!”
Mrs Wyllys answered not, but she stood the image of doubt and painful indecision. Then the plash of oars was heard in the water, and at the next moment the pinnace was seen gliding over the element, impelled by the strong arms of six powerful rowers.
“Stay!” shrieked the governess, no longer undetermined; “receive my child, though you abandon me!”
A wave of the hand, and an indistinct rumbling in the coarse tones of the mate, were the only answers given to her appeal. A long, deep, and breathing silence followed among the deserted. The grim countenances of the seamen in the pinnace soon became confused and indistinct; and then the boat itself began to lessen on the eye, until it seemed no more than a dark and distant speck, rising and falling with the flow and reflux of the blue waters. During all this time, not even a whispered word was spoken. Each of the party gazed, until sight grew dim, at the receding object; and it was only when his organs refused to convey the tiny image to his brain, that Wilder himself shook off the impression of the sort of trance into which he had fallen. His look became bent on his companions, and he pressed his hand upon his forehead, as though his brain were bewildered by the deep responsibility he had assumed in advising them to remain. But the sickening apprehension quickly passed away, leaving in its place a firmer mind, and a resolution too often tried in scenes of doubtful issue, to be long or easily shaken from its calmness and self-possession.
“They are gone!” he exclaimed, breathing long and heavily, like one whose respiration had been unnaturally suspended.
“They are gone!” echoed