The breeze proved only what sailors call a catspaw, rising no higher
than just to cause a ripple on the water, and lasting only about an
hour. When it was over, the sea again fell into a dead calm; its
surface assuming the smoothness of a mirror.
In the midst of this the raft lay motionless, and the extemporised sail
was of no use for propelling it. It served a purpose, however, in
screening off the rays of the sun, which, though not many degrees above
the horizon, was beginning to make itself felt in all its tropical
fervour.
Ben no longer required his companion to take a hand at the oar. Not but
that their danger of being overtaken was as great as ever; for although
they had made easterly some five or six knots, it was but natural to
conclude that the great raft had been doing the same; and therefore the
distance between the two would be about as before.
But whether it was that his energy had become prostrated by fatigue and
the hopelessness of their situation, or whether upon further reflection
he felt less fear of their being pursued, certain it is he no longer
showed uneasiness about making way over the water; and after once more
rising to his feet and making a fresh examination of the horizon, he
stretched himself along the raft in the shade of the tarpaulin.
The boy, at his request, had already placed himself in a similar
position, and was again buried in slumber.
"I'm glad to see he can sleep," said Brace to himself, as he lay down
alongside. "He must be sufferin' from hunger as bad as I am myself, and
as long as he's asleep he won't feel it. May be, if one could keep
asleep they'd hold out longer, though I don't know 'bout that bein' so.
I've often ate a hearty supper, and woke up in the mornin' as hungry as
if I'm gone to my bunk without a bite. Well, it an't no use o' me
tryin' to sleep as I feel now, blow'd if it is! My belly calls out loud
enough to keep old Morphis himself from nappin', and there an't a morsel
o' anything. More than forty hours have passed since I ate that last
quarter biscuit. I can think o' nothing but our shoes, and they be so
soaked wi' the sea-water, I suppose they'll do more harm than good.
They'll be sure to make the thirst a deal worse than it is, though the
Lord knows it be bad enough a'ready. Merciful Father!--nothin' to
eat!--nothin' to drink! O God, hear the prayer little Will'm ha' just
spoken and I ha' repeated, though I've been too wicked to expect bein'
heard, `_Give us this day our daily bread_'! Ah! another day or two
without it, an' we shall both be asleep forever!"
The soliloquy of the despairing sailor ended in a groan, that awoke his
young comrade from a slumber that was at best only transient and
troubled.
"What is it, Ben?" he asked, raising himself on his elbow, and looking
inquiringly in the face of his protector.
"Nothing partikler, my lad," answered the sailor, who did not wish to
terrify his companion with the dark thoughts which were troubling
himself.
"I heard you groaning,--did I not? I was afraid you had seen them
coming after us."
"No fear o' that,--not a bit. They're a long way off, and in this calm
sea they won't be inclined to stir,--not as long as the rum-cask holds
out, I warrant; and when that's empty, they'll not feel much like movin'
anywhere. 'Tan't for them we need have any fear now."
"O Ben! I'm so hungry; I could eat anything."
"I know it, my poor lad; so could I."
"True! indeed you must be even hungrier than I, for you gave me more
than my share of the two biscuits. It was wrong of me to take it, for
I'm sure you must be suffering dreadfully."
"That's true enough, Will'm; but a bit o' biscuit wouldn't a made no
difference. It must come to the same thing in the end."
"To what, Ben?" inquired the lad, observing the shadow that had
overspread the countenance of his companion, which was gloomier than he
had ever seen it.
The sailor remained silent. He could not think of a way to evade giving
the correct answer to the question; and keeping his eyes averted, he
made no reply.
"I know what you mean," continued the interrogator. "Yes, yes,--you
mean that we must die!"
"No, no, Will'm,--not that; there's hope yet,--who knows what may turn
up? It may be that the prayer will be answered. I'd like, lad, if
you'd go over it again. I think I could help you better this time; for
I once knew it myself,--long, long ago, when I was about as big as you,
and hearin' you repeatin' it, it has come most o' it back into my
memory. Go over it again, little Will'm."
The youth once more knelt upon the raft, and in the shadow of the spread
tarpaulin repeated the Lord's Prayer,--the sailor, in his rougher voice,
pronouncing the words after him.
When they had finished, the latter once more rose to his feet, and for
some minutes stood scanning the circle of sea around the raft.
The faint hope which that trusting reliance in his Maker had inspired
within the breast of the rude mariner exhibited itself for a moment upon
his countenance, but only for a moment. No object greeted his vision,
save the blue, boundless sea, and the equally boundless sky.
A despairing look replaced that transient gleam of hope, and, staggering
back behind the tarpaulin, he once more flung his body prostrate upon
the raft.
Again they lay, side by side, in perfect silence,--neither of them
asleep, but both in a sort of stupor, produced by their unspoken
despair.