quently were able to assist their captain in his arduous task. Dick was far too experîenced a sailor himself to be inconvenienced by any oscillations of the vessel, however violent.
The "Pilgrim" still made good headway, and Dick, although he was aware that ultimately it would probably be necessary again to shorten sail, was anxious to postpone making any alteration before he was absolu tely obliged. Surely, he reasoned with himself, the land could not now be far away; he had calculated his speed; he had kept a diligent reckoning on the chart; surely, the shore must be almost in sight. He would not trust his crew to keep watch; he was aware how easily their inexperienced eyes would be misled, and how they might mistake a distant cloud-bank for the land they coveted to see; he kept watch for himself; his own gaze was ever fixed upon the horizon; and in the eagerness of his expectation he would repeatedly mount to the cross-trees to get a wider range of vision.
But land was not to be seen.
Next day as Dick was standing at the bow, alternately considering the canvas which his ship carried and the aspect presented by the sky, Mrs. Weldon approached him without his noticing her. She caught some muttered expressions of bewilderment that fell from his lips, and asked him whether he could see anything.
He lowered the telescope which he had been holding in his hand, and answered,—
"No, Mrs. Weldon, I cannot see anything; and it is this that perplexes me so sorely. I cannot understand why we have not already come in sight of land. It is nearly a month since we lost our poor dear captain. There has been no delay in our progress; no stoppage in our rate of speed. I cannot make it out."
"How far were we from land when we lost the captain?"
"I am sure I am not far out in saying that we were scarcely more than 4500 miles from the shores of America."
"And at what rate have we been sailing?"
"Not much less than nine score knots a day."
