Holdsworth handed her a biscuit, and she broke a piece of it off and appeared to munch it; but in the darkness they could not tell how little she ate. No sign was to be seen of the other boats, although once Holdsworth imagined he heard a voice halloing a long way to windward. The boat’s head was now pointing east-north-east; but she lay close to the wind and made scarcely more than four knots an hour. The jump of the sea deadened her way materially; but this jump decreased as the night wore on, for the waves grew longer, with steadier intermissions. At twelve o’clock, Holdsworth, who was worn out by his long spell at the helm, called to Johnson to awaken Winyard. Up jumped the seaman from the bottom of the boat and came aft. Holdsworth gave him the yoke-lines, and bidding Johnson lie down and get some rest, seated himself on the lee-side of the mast and scanned the sea to right and left of him. The old General had fallen asleep right along the thwart on which he sat, his face buried in his arm. The boy slept soundly in his mother’s arms, but whether she slumbered or not, Holdsworth could not tell. Once Mr. St. Aubyn started up as from a nightmare, muttered some broken sentences, and was silent again. “Keep her close,” said Holdsworth to Winyard, “and watch the seas.” “You had best take some rest, sir. I can handle the boat whilst you’re down.” “No. I’ll wait until Johnson has had his nap.” So passed two hours. It was drawing near half-past two in the morning when Winyard called, in a loud whisper: “Master, isn’t that a ship to windward, there?” No one in the boat heard him but Holdsworth. He jumped up and peered into the starlit gloom ahead, where, sure enough, the outline of a dark shadow could be traced, though only by looking on one side of it. “Yes, that’s a ship!” he answered hoarsely; “but she’s too far to windward to hear our shouts. Have we any lights aboard of us? Quick!” He pulled the General, who leaped up, rubbing his eyes. “Have you any matches about you?” “No--what is it?” “There’s a ship yonder! I could souse my handkerchief in rum and set fire to it. Hi! Mr. St. Aubyn! feel if you have a match in your pockets.” But the actor answered with a stupefied stare, whereupon Holdsworth searched his pockets without avail. Johnson was awake, standing up in the bows, with his arms lifted. “Ship ahoy!” roared Holdsworth. One might have thought the voice deep and powerful enough to have carried twice the distance of that gliding shadow. They waited breathlessly; but no sound was returned. “Altogether, now!” shouted Holdsworth; “one, two, three--ship ahoy!” The united voices sounded like a shriek of death-agony rising out of the ebony-coloured deep; but no response was brought back by the wind. “O God!” raved Winyard. “They’d see us if we could only show a light!” “She is running before the wind,” cried Johnson; “she’s passing us!”