Chapter 32 - Page 2

that the dangers we had escaped
should make us more hopeful for the future; and I think that
nearly all of us are inclined to share his opinion.

Whether the captain is equally sanguine I am unable to say. He
holds himself very much aloof, and as he evidently feels that he
has the great responsibility of saving other lives than his own,
we are reluctant to disturb his silent meditations.

Such of the crew as are not on watch spend the greater portion of
their time in dozing on the fore part of the raft. The aft, by
the captain's orders, has been reserved for the use of us
passengers, and by erecting some uprights we have contrived to
make a sort of tent, which affords some shelter from the burning
sun. On the whole our bill of health is tolerably satisfactory.
Lieutenant Walter is the only invalid, and he, in spite of all
our careful nursing, seems to get weaker every day.

Andre Letourneur is the life of our party, and I have never
appreciated the young man so well. His originality of perception
makes his conversation both lively and entertaining and as he
talks, his wan and suffering countenance lights up with an
intelligent animation. His father seems to become more devoted
to him than ever, and I have seen him sit for an hour at a time,
with his hand resting on his son's, listening eagerly to his
every word.

Miss Herbey occasionally joins in our conversation, but although
we all do our best to make her forget that she has lost those who
should have been her natural protectors, M. Letourneur is the
only one amongst us to whom she speaks without a certain reserve.
To him, whose age gives him something of the authority of a
father, she has told the history of her life--a life of patience
and self-denial such as not unfrequently falls to the lot of
orphans. She had been, she said, two years with Mrs. Kear, and
although now left alone in the world, homeless and without
resources, hope for the future does not fail her. The young
lady's modest deportment and energy of character command the
respect of all on board, and I do not think that even the
coarsest of the sailors has either by word or gesture acted
towards her in a way that she could deem offensive.

The 12th, 13th, and 14th of December passed away without any
change in our condition. The wind continued to blow in irregular
gusts, but always in the same direction, and the helm, or rather
the paddle at the back of the raft has never once required
shifting; and the watch, who are posted on the fore, under orders
to examine the sea with the most scrupulous attention, have had
no change of any kind to report.

At the end of a week we found ourselves growing accustomed to our
limited diet, and as we had no