“Put your helm up!” roared Holdsworth. “We’ll follow her. She may hear us when we get her to leeward.” They let go the halliards, shook the reefs out of the sail, and set it again, slackening the sheet far out. The boat headed for the visionary shadow, which was fast fading in the universal gloom, and the foam boiled under and alongside of her. “Altogether again!” sang out Holdsworth. Once more went forth the loud, despairing chorus, to be followed by silence. They might as well have attempted to chase a cloud. Keen as the sailors’ eyes were, they could no longer perceive the shadow. “Never mind!” exclaimed Holdsworth, cheerily, “there may be others near us; we’ll keep a sharp look-out.” “She may fall in with one of the other boats,” said Johnson, “and, maybe, she’ll cruise about to find us.” The chill of disappointment passed, and they grew hopeful. The mere fact of having sighted a ship imparted a new encouragement. “We should be in the track of outward-bounders,” said Holdsworth. “Give us a hand here, Johnson, to take these reefs in. Bring her close again, Winyard. Pray God we shall be talking of this night on a ship’s deck by noon to-morrow.” The little boy, who had been awakened by the halloing of the men, shivered, crept closer to his mother’s side, and fell asleep again. CHAPTER VIII. THE SECOND DAY. “Mr. Holdsworth,” said the General, “will you not let me watch whilst you get some sleep? You have been up now for nearly three nights running, and I beg you to consider the preciousness of your life to us all.” “I am much obliged to you, General. I’ll do as you ask me. Johnson, come aft and relieve Winyard here. Keep a sharp look-out, my lads, and wake me up if the breeze freshens.” He seated himself in the bottom of the boat, rested his head upon a thwart, and in a few moments was fast asleep. A hush fell upon the boat which nothing broke but the quick angry sousing of the bows as the boat fell with her short length into the trough of the sea. The widow had fallen asleep at last, and leaned against Johnson, who steered, whilst her boy slumbered with his head on her lap. The sailor sat motionless for fear of waking her, calling once in a whisper to Winyard to come aft and look at the little ’un, and tell him if he thought that God would let such innocence be drowned. “He’s the image of my little Bill,” answered Winyard, stooping his bearded face low that he might see the child’s features. “I’m glad the poor lady’s sleeping. Keep steady, Dick, or you’ll wake her. She ain’t tasted a mossil of food all this blessed day, and it ’ud cut me to the heart to see the little ’un left without a mother.” “Ay, and so it would me, Harry. May be we’ll sight a ship to-morrow. I’ve got my old woman to keep ashore, and I guess, when rent-time comes, she won’t know what to do, unless I get back.” “I wish I had some ’baccy with me. Ain’t got a bit in all my pockets. I wonder where t’other boats have got to?”