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<h3>Chapter Thirty Four.</h3> <h4>The Sail out of Sight.</h4> The sea-cook and the sailor were now swimming towards each other. It is true that Ben was not making very rapid way, nor did Snowball return on his course with any great alacrity. Despair had rendered the latter somewhat irresolute; and he scarcely knew why he was swimming back, unless it was to be drowned in company with the others; for drowning now appeared their inevitable fate. Slowly as both swam, they soon came together,—the countenances of both, as they met, exhibiting that fixed, despairing look which bespeaks the utter extinction of hope. The Catamaran was now at such a distance, that even could she have been suddenly arrested in her course, and brought to an anchor, it was doubtful whether either Snowball or the sailor could have reached her by swimming. The raft itself and the water-casks lashed around it were no longer to be seen. Only the white sail, that like a bit of fleecy cloud, equally fleeting, was fast lessening to a speck upon the distant horizon. No wonder that hope had forsaken them! The sailor wondered that the sail was still set. During the first moments, while endeavouring to come up with the craft, he had shouted to William to let go the halliards. He had kept repeating this order, until his voice, already hoarse and faltering, grew almost inarticulate from sheet exhaustion of breath, and the rail, moreover, had drifted to such a distance that it was not likely the lad could hear him. Under this impression he had at length discontinued his feeble cries, and swam on in slow and gloomy silence, wondering why William had not obeyed his injunctions, feeling chagrin at his not doing so, and with good reason, since the lowering of the sail might have still given them some chance of overtaking the craft. It was just as the sailor had given over calling out, and relapsed into sullen silence, that Snowball was seen returning towards him. It was an additional argument for despair this abandonment of the chase on the part of the Coromantee. When such a swimmer had given it up, Ben knew it was hopeless. In a moment after they met face to face. The glance exchanged between them was mutually understood without a word spoken by either. Each tacitly read in the eyes of the other the dread destiny that awaited them,—near, and soon to be fulfilled,—drowning! Snowball was the first to break the terrible silence. “You nigh done up, Massa Ben,—you muss be! Gib me de lilly gal. You Lally! you lay hold on ma shoulder, and let Massa Brace ress a bit.” “No,—no!” protested the sailor, in a despairing tone. “It bean’t no use. I can carry her a bit longer. ’Tain’t much longer as any o’ us ’ll be—” “Sh! Massa Brace,” interrupted the negro, speaking in a suppressed whisper, and looking significantly towards the child. “Hope dar ’s no danger yet,” he added, in a voice intended for the ear of Lalee. “We oberhaul de Catamaran by ’m by. De wind change, and bring dat craff down on us. ’Peak in de French, Massa Ben,” he continued, at the same time adroitly adopting a patois of that language. “De pauvre jeune fille don’t understan’ de French lingo. I know it am all ober wi’ boaf you an’ me, and de gal, too but doan let her know it to de lass minute. It be no use to do dat,—only make her feel wuss.” “Eh bien! all right!” muttered Ben, indiscriminately mingling his French and English phrases. “Pauvre enfant! She shan’t know nothin’ from me o’ what be afore her. Lord a marcy on all o’ us! I don’t see the raft any more! Whar be it? Can you see it, Snowball?” “Gorramity, no!” replied the black, raising himself up in the water to get a better view. “Gone out o’ de sight altogedder! We nebba see dat Catamaran any more,—no, nebba!” The additional accent of despair with which these words were uttered was scarce perceptible. Had there been a hope, it would have been shattered by the disappearance of the raft,—whose white sail was now no longer visible against the blue background of the horizon. But all hope had previously been abandoned; and this new phase of the drama produced but slight change in the minds of its chief actors. Death was already staring them in the face with that determination which promised no prospect of avoiding it, and none was cherished. The only change that occurred was in the action. The swimmers no longer directed themselves in a particular course. There was none for them to follow. With the disappearance of the sail they no longer knew in what direction to look for the raft. For all they now knew of it, it might have gone to the bottom, leaving them alone upon the bosom of the limitless ocean. “No use swimmin’ on’ards!” said Ben, despairingly. “It’ll only waste the bit of strength that be left us.” “No use,” assented the negro. “Less lay to, and float on de water. Dat be easier, and we can keep up de longer. Do, Massa Ben,—gib me de gal. You mo’ tired dan I. Come, lilly Lally, you grasp hold on ma shoulder! Dat’s de bess way. Come, now,—come, dear lilly gal.” And as Snowball spoke, he swam close alongside the girl and, gently detaching her hand from the shoulder of the sailor, transferred its feeble grasp to his own. Ben no longer offered resistance to this generous action on the part of his old comrade: for, in truth, he stood in dire necessity of the relief; and, the transfer having been effected, both continued to float upon the water, sustaining themselves with no more effort than was absolutely necessary to keep their heads above the surface. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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