NIGHT came—a miserable—miserable night! On the previous night, the boys had slept; but this night, sleep was not thought of by any one of them. Exhausted though they all were by hard work, they yet felt the position of the Antelope to be too perilous to think of sleep. It was a time for vigilance. It was a time when each one had to keep himself wide awake, and hold himself prepared to rush to the boat at a moment’s warning. The boat floated astern, as usual, and in it were all the stores that might be necessary for a lengthened row; but they wished to postpone any recourse to this boat to the latest possible moment. And all the time the Antelope held on her course, impelled by a fair, yet moderate breeze, that blew directly astern.
Exhausted though they were, yet none of them shrunk from his task. All took turns. Corbet and Wade, Wade and Solomon, Corbet and Solomon; then the boys, two by two, at the pump; each couple laboring strenuously and conscientiously, yet showing the same result. For, whoever it was that worked, or whatever was the amount of labor expended, the result seemed in each case a failure and a defeat. They were struggling against a common enemy; but the enemy was gaining. In spite of their efforts, the waters continued to rise, and there was no way by which they could bring any additional labor to bear. Had there been another pump, they would have been in a better position. At about midnight they undertook a second time to supplement the pumping with baling, but again desisted on account of the utter exhaustion which followed such severe toil. It only lessened their power of working at the pump. So once more they gave it up.
From that time on their efforts grew less and less. The long toil had told upon every one of them, more particularly upon the boys. The labors of Captain Corbet, of Solomon, and of Wade, were less vigorous certainly; yet still, they were even and well sustained; but those of the boys grew more and more fitful, irregular, and feeble.
Each time that any two of them came to take their turn, they felt as though this must be the last. And so the hours and the labors of that dreary night dragged on.
Morning came.
All the boys felt that their capacity for work was well nigh exhausted. Morning came, and brought the fog. No land appeared. No ship was in sight. They sounded a blast on the fog horn, but no reply came.
Morning came, and brought, worse than all, the sight of four feet of water in the Antelope’s hold,—an amount so great that further pumping was useless, and at the best could only delay for a very short time a doom that was inevitable.
Morning came, then, and brought this sight; and the four feet of water in the Antelope’s hold at once forced a change in the decision of those on board.
They saw that if they continued pumping they might delay the decisive moment somewhat, but that it must come; and if it came with all of them on board, they must sink with the sinking schooner. And that the end was near, they could see. There was no time for delay. Already the signs which met their view told them that the end was near.
Take to the boat!
This was now their thought. To the boat,—before it was too late! On board the boat were all the stores necessary for a protracted voyage; and they all began to feel that this boat was now a better place than the sinking Antelope. The boat was a place of rest; a place more restricted-, yet still, one which promised comparative peace and safety. To that boat, therefore, they must go, before it was too late; while yet they could embark in peace, and move away from the doomed Antelope.
Nor was a resort to the boat so hopeless an undertaking as it might appear to have been. At the worst, they were in a part of the world where ships are frequent; and some of them thought that land was near enough to be seen in some direction if only the fog should be dispelled. The stores in the boat were sufficient to sustain life for a considerable time, and they would be free from the necessity of incessant and most exhaustive labor.
There was now no time for any delay or any hesitation. They all felt this. The sight of the Antelope’s hold decided them.
They must take to the boat.
“Come along, captain,” said Bart. “We mustn’t stay any longer. The Antelope’ll go down before half an hour. If we pump any longer we’ll all be used up, and won’t delay her sinking more than five minutes. Come along.”
“Goin doun!” said Captain Corbet, dreamily. “Only think of the Antelope goin doun!”
“Come, captain,” said Bruce, taking his arm. “The boat’s all ready.”
“O, yes,” said the captain; “and the Antelope’s goin doun! Dear me! Only think of it!”
“Captain Corbet,” said Arthur, solemnly, “we’re all ready. Come, go aboard the boat.”
“Well—well—well,” said the captain. “Very well. O, all right. O, yes. You jest git into the boat. Git along. Never mind me. I’ll wait a while, you know. You go ahead. I’ll jest meander around here while you’re gettin into the boat. All right.”
At this the boys went off to the boat, and dropped in one after the other. Bruce, and Arthur, and Tom, and Phil, and Bart. Pat lingered behind. Those who had got into the boat expected that the others would follow at once, and now looked eagerly towards them.
They were afloat astern; and there, at the stern of the Antelope, stood Captain Corbet, surveying them with a melancholy air.
“Come along, captain,” said Bart.
“O, all right. Wait till the rest go,” said he. “Tain’t right for me to clar out jest yet. The captain must allers be the last to quit the sinkin ship.”
At this the boys called to the others,—to Pat, who had lingered behind, to Solomon, and to Wade.
Pat was standing by the mainmast, To their amazement, they saw that he was busily engaged in binding himself to it with ropes.
“Pat,” cried Bart, “why don’t you hurry up?”
Pat made no reply, but went on as before, solemnly and methodically.
“Pat,” cried Tom, “what in the world are you waiting for? Hurry up! What are you doing?”
“Sure it’s tyin meself to the mast, I am,” said Pat.
“What,” cried Bruce, “tying yourself to the mast! What nonsense! What do you mean?”
“Sure it’s the right thing to do,” said Pat. “It’s what they allers does, so it is, wheniver a ship gits wracked. Sure I know; and I advise you to do the same.”
“He’s tying himself to the mast!” cried Phil. “He’s mad. He’s insane. Some of us’ll have to drag him on board.”
“Pat,” cried Barty, “come along. Are you crazy? The Antelope’s sinking! What do you mean? Stop that. If you tie yourself to the mast, you’ll go down with her. What nonsense! drop that rope, and come with us.”
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