Then, and not till then, did Wilder relax in his exertions. He had
arranged his sails ready to be hoisted in an instant; he had carefully
examined that no straggling rope connected the boat to the wreck, to
draw them under with the foundering mass; and he had assured himself
that food, water, compass, and the imperfect instruments that were there
then in use to ascertain the position of a ship, were all perfectly
disposed of in their several places, and ready to his hand. When all was
in this state of preparation, he disposed of himself in the stern of the
boat, and endeavored by the composure of his manner, to inspire his less
resolute companions with a portion of his own firmness.
The bright sunshine was sleeping in a thousand places on every side of
the silent and deserted wreck. The sea had subsided to such a state of
utter rest that it was only at long intervals that the huge and helpless
mass, on which the ark of the expectants lay, was lifted from its dull
quietude, to roll heavily, for a moment in the washing waters, and
then to settle lower into the greedy and absorbing element. Still the
disappearance of the hull was slow, and even tedious, to those who
looked forward with such impatience to its total immersion, as to the
crisis of their own fortunes.
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