There was no fear but that the hull would stand the strain;
Desmond knew the pains that had been expended in her building: the
careful selection of the timbers, the niceness with which the planks had
been fitted. No European vessel could have proved her superior in
seaworthiness.
But she was fast drifting out into the Indian Ocean, far away from the
haven Desmond desired to make. How long was this going to last? Whither
was he being carried? Without chart or compass he could take no bearings,
set no true course. It was a dismal prospect, and Desmond, glowing as he
was with the excitement of the fight, yet felt some anxiety. Luckily,
besides the provisions brought in their bundles by the fugitives, there
was a fair supply of food and water on board; for although every portable
article of value had been taken on shore when the grab anchored in
Gheria, it had not been thought necessary to remove the bulkier articles.
Thus, if at the worst the vessel were driven far out to sea, there was no
danger of starvation, even if she could not make port for several days.
But Desmond hoped that things would not come to this pass. Towards
nightfall, surely, the squall would blow itself out. Yet the wind
appeared to be gaining rather than losing strength; hour after hour
passed, and he still could not venture to quit the wheel. He was drenched
through and through with the rain; his muscles ached with the stress; and
he could barely manage to eat the food and water brought him staggeringly
by the serang in the intervals of the wilder gusts.
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