I was not, indeed, without misgivings as to the fate of these. The launch, being large, was better fitted to ride out the gale than her companions, and I expected that the smaller of the two boats, at least, had been swamped. However, I soon discovered both her and her companion, one about a cable’s length astern, and the other nearly abeam. With a glad hallo, that sounded strangely on the now lonely seas, my crew took to their oars, and pulled rapidly in the direction of the boat abeam, the one astern following our example. The first voice I heard was the junior lieutenant’s. “Can you see any thing of the ship?” he said. “No,” I replied, “she is entirely out of sight.” “What is to be done?” he asked. “You have no water or provisions on board, I suppose?” “Nothing but a beaker of water, and not a solitary biscuit.” “How far is it to the nearest land?” “About five hundred miles, I take it.” “So I thought,” I answered. And now I mused for a moment, the crews of the three boats resting on their oars, and looking eagerly at me. Every man knew, as well as myself, that, in all likelihood, we should never see the ship again: in which event a lingering death by starvation was our almost inevitable doom. On my decision, whether to pull after the ship, which would carry us further from land, or, abandoning the hope of meeting the ship, seek to reach the coast by the nearest route, hung, perhaps, our lives: and all were aware of this. “Follow the squall,” I said, at last, turning my eyes to the dark cloud, now fast disappearing on the eastern horizon, “it is our only chance. If we don’t find the ship we are dead men. It is madness to think of reaching land.” “I would to God the sun was a few hours higher!” said the lieutenant, looking at that luminary, which now hung, a blazing orb, a few degrees only above the horizon. “We haven’t even a lantern on board, to show a light!” Nothing further was said. The boats were headed east, the men bent to their tasks, and, in another minute, the little fleet was speeding silently across the waters. But with what different feelings from those with which we set out from the ship two hours before! As the time wore on, and the sun declined lower to the horizon, yet still no sign of the ship became visible, our hearts sunk within us. The squall in the distance had now dwindled to a bank of clouds, low on the furthest seaboard; but no vestige of the ship, between it and us, was perceptible. At last the sun’s disc touched the western horizon, and, in another instant, had entirely disappeared. Darkness, deep and profound, now fell upon us; for, in that tropical latitude, there is no twilight to prolong, in part, the day. As the gloom settled around us, a deep drawn breath rose from the boat’s crew: it was an involuntary expression of the general feeling, that, with the sun, hope too had set.