It wanted but a little while of sunset, when the sailor and his young
comrade had finished flensing the shark. The raft now exhibited quite
an altered appearance. Between the two upright oars several pieces of
rope had been stretched transversely, and from these hung suspended the
broad thin flitches of the shark's flesh, that at a distance might have
been mistaken for some sort of a sail. Indeed, they acted as such; for
their united discs presented a considerable breadth of surface to the
breeze, which had sprung up as the evening approached, and the raft by
this means moved through the water with considerable rapidity.
There was no effort made to steer it. The idea of reaching land was
entirely out of the question. Their only hope of salvation lay in their
being seen from a ship; and as a ship was as likely to come from one
direction as another, it mattered not to which of the thirty-two points
of the compass their raft might be drifting. Yes, it _did_ matter. So
thought Ben Brace, on reflection.
It might be of serious consequence, should the raft make way to the
westward. Somewhere in that direction--how far neither could guess--
that greater raft, with its crew of desperate ruffians,--those drunken
would-be cannibals,--must be drifting about, like themselves, at the
mercy of winds and waves: perhaps more than themselves suffering the
dire extreme of thirst and hunger. Perhaps, ere then, one of their own
number may have been forced to submit to the horrid fate which they had
designed for little William; and which, but for the interference of his
generous protector, would most certainly have befallen him.
Should he again fall into their clutches, there would be but slight
chance of a second escape. His protector knew that. Ben knew,
moreover, that his own life would be equally sure of being sacrificed to
the resentment of the ribald crew, with whom he had formerly associated.
No wonder, as he felt the breeze blowing on his cheek, that he looked
towards the setting sun, to ascertain in what direction the raft was
being borne. No wonder that his anxious glance became changed to a look
of satisfaction when he perceived that they were moving eastward.
"To the east'ard it are, sure enough," said he, "and that be curious
too. 'T an't often I've see'd the wind blow from the westward in these
latitudes. Only another catspaw in the middle o' the calm. 'T won't
last long; though it won't matter, so long's it don't turn and blow us
t'other way."
The expressed wish not to be blown "t'other way" needed no explanation.
William understood what that meant. The fearful scene of the preceding
day was fresh in his memory. That scene, where half a score of
fiend-like monsters, threatening his life, were kept at bay by one
heroic man,--that was a tableau too terrible to be soon forgotten.
Nor had he forgotten it, even for a moment. Perhaps, during that brief
conflict with the sharks, the nearer danger may have driven it for an
interval out of his mind; but that over, the dread remembrance returned
again; and every now and then,--even while engaged in the varied labours
that had occupied them throughout the day,--in a sort of waking dream he
had recalled that fearful vision. Often--every few minutes in fact--had
his eyes been turned involuntarily towards the west,--where, instead of
looking hopefully for a ship, his anxious glance betrayed a fear that
any dark object might be seen in that direction.
On finishing their task, both were sufficiently fatigued,--the strong
sailor as well as his feebler companion. The former still kept his
feet, anxiously scanning the horizon; while the latter laid himself
along the bare boards of the raft.
"Little Will'm," said the sailor, looking down at the boy, and speaking
in gentle tones, "you'd better spread the sail under ye, and get some
sleep. There be no use in both o' us keeping awake. I'll watch till it
gets dark, an' then I'll join you. Go to sleep, lad! go to sleep!"
William was too wearied to make objection. Drawing the skirt of the
sail over the raft, he lay down upon it, and found sleep almost as soon
is he had composed himself into the attitude to enjoy it.
The sailor remained standing erect; now sweeping the horizon with his
glance, now bending his eye restlessly upon the water as it rippled
along the edge of the raft, and again returning to that distant
scrutiny,--so oft repeated, so oft unrewarded.
Thus occupied, he passed the interval of twilight,--short in these
latitudes; nor did he terminate his vigil until darkness had descended
upon the deep.
It promised to be a dark, moonless night. Only a few feebly gleaming
stars, thinly scattered over the firmament, enabled him to distinguish
the canopy of the sky from the waste of waters that surrounded him.
Even a ship under full spread of canvas could not have been seen, though
passing at a cable's length from the raft.
It was idle to continue the dreary vigil; and having arrived at this
conviction, the sailor stretched himself alongside his slumbering
companion, and, like the latter, was soon relieved from his
long-protracted anxiety by the sweet oblivion of sleep.