At the end of the following week two
only were left Bolsover and myself. Of
the forty-seven who had sailed from Liver
pool, Utile more than a month previously,
we were the sole survivors. All the rest
slept their long sleep in the fathomless
depths of tne wild Atlantic.
Whnt my feelings were 1 can hardly re
member, and do not care to recall. 1 was
stunned, overwhelmed, and. ns it seemed,
almost paralyzed by the stupendous na
ture of the ealamity which had overtaken
me, anil by hitler grief for those who were
gone. Hot for Bolsover 1 think 1 must
have gone mad. He too sorrowed. In his
own fashion, for our lost comrades; yet Ids
grief seemed to sit lightly on him, and in
his maimer fhere was at times .something
that looked very like exnlla'i. a, tne cause
of which 1 was at first at a loss '■( divine,
lint a casual expression he let drop en
lightened me. He regarded his escape and
mine as proof that we were the destined
discoverers of the “Santa Anna.”
Had I been less depressed, 1 should have
been amused, probably have laughed at
flint. As It was, I thought It best not to
answer I.im You cannot argue with a
monomaniac.
But on every other point the boatswain,
as usual, was evidently sane and practical.
“There Is only yon and me now,” he said,
“and we ran neither handle the ship nor
navigate her; but, we can do our best.
