As soon as day dawned every eye was bent upon the horizon. Not a point
of the whole circle that was not scanned with the minutest earnestness
by one and all. Round and round they turned, sweeping the surface with
anxious glances, and raising themselves as high as they could in order
to command the most distant view.
But all ended in disappointment. No sail was in sight; nothing that had
life or motion; not even fish or fowl broke the monotony of that vast
surface of sleeping water.
There were no signs of the gig: she must have rowed off in some
different direction; no signs either of the wreck, the breeze had
carried us far from it; but even had we remained near, there might have
been seen no traces of it. All had long since gone to the bottom of the
sea.
The sun rose higher and higher, and at noon stood right over our heads.
We had no protection from his beams--they were almost hot enough to
blister us.
The calm continued--there was not enough motion in the air to have
wafted a feather, and the raft lay as still as if it had been aground.
It only moved, when those who were on it passed from place to place.
There was not much changing about. There was no great room for it.
There were in all thirty-four of us, and the bodies of the men--some
sitting and others lying--covered nearly the whole space. There was no
reason for moving about. Most were sullen and despondent, and kept the
places, they had first taken, without the energy to stir out of them.
Others were of lighter heart, or, under the influence of the rum which
they drank freely, were more noisy. Now and then there was wrangling
among them.
The sea was frequently scanned, round and round, to the very borders of
the sky.
This duty was neither forgotten nor overlooked. There was always some
one rising to his feet and gazing outward, but only to return to his
former position, with that disheartening look that proclaimed how vain
his reconnoissance had been. Indeed, silence itself was a sufficient
reply. No one would have discovered a sail, without making instant
announcement of it.
At noon we were all suffering from thirst; they who had been regaling
themselves with rum worse than any--for this is the sure result.
Water was served out from the cask--in equal quantity to each. It was
agreed that all should share alike, both of the water and the bread--and
of the former it was resolved that each should receive a pint a day. In
any other situation the allowance might have been sufficient, and
existence might be supported upon it; but under that broiling sun, that
seemed to dry up the very blood in our veins, our thirst became almost
insupportable, and the pint of water could be gulped down without
affording the slightest relief. I am certain that half a gallon would
scarce have sufficed to quench my thirst. What rendered the pint of
water still more insufficient was, that it was no longer cool water.
The sun, basking down upon the cask that lay only half covered, had
heated the staves--and, consequently, the water within--to such a
degree, that the latter tasted as if half-way towards boiling. It may
have checked the progress of thirst, but it did not alleviate the pain.
The water might have been kept cooler, by throwing the idle sail over
the cask; but even this trifling precaution was not adopted.
The men were gradually giving away to despair--the torpor of despondency
was fast laying hold upon them, and under this influence no one seemed
to possess energy enough for any precaution--however easy it might have
been.
As to the serving out of the food, that occupied only one act. To be
put upon daily allowance out of such a store was altogether out of the
question. A simple partition was all that was required, and the bag of
biscuit was emptied out and its contents equally divided around. There
proved to be two biscuits apiece, with a small surplus, and for this
last the crew held a "raffle"--each time a single biscuit forming the
prize. For these prizes the men contended with as much eagerness, as if
there had been large sums of money staked on the result; and, indeed, it
would have been a large sum that would have purchased one of those
precious morsels of bread.
The "raffling," combined with the "rum"--which was now also meted out--
produced for some time a noisy excitement. But this was soon over; and
the sullen silence of despondency again ruled.
Some, already ravenous with hunger and reckless of consequences, ate
their two biscuits at once--while others, endowed with greater prudence
or stronger powers of endurance, only gnawed a small portion, and kept
the rest towards a future and more pressing necessity.
Thus passed the time till near sunset, with no event to cheer us--no new
prospect to beget a hope.
When near sunset, however, a grand excitement was produced, and all the
sweet joys of hope were again felt.
One of the men who had arisen to his feet, and was gazing over the sea,
suddenly cried out:--
"A sail--a sail!"
It would be impossible to describe the wild joy that these words
produced--men leaped to their feet, vociferating glad huzzas as they
repeated the words "a sail, a sail." Some pulled off their hats and
waved them in the air--some leaped and danced about as though frantic,
and even the most despairing behaved as if suddenly called to a new
life.
I have said it would be impossible to picture that scene; but still more
impossible to describe the contrast which, but the moment after, might
have been witnessed upon the raft, when it was ascertained that the cry
was a false alarm. No sail was in sight--there had been none--nothing
could be seen of ship or sail over the wide circle of the ocean--nothing
moved upon the glass-like face of that vast mirror.
A false alarm, entirely without foundation. Why the man had uttered it
was soon explained. The wild expressions that were pouring from his
lips, with the grotesque gestures he was making with his arms proved
that he was mad!