About the fourth day I began to feel uneasy.  I had seen but three sails, and these had taken no notice of the signal which I had hung as high in the mizzen-mast as I had dared to climb.  It was, indeed, no wonder that the signal had attracted no attention among the fluttering shreds of sails about it.

I believe that one ship must have approached quite near me.  I had been below some time, looking over the books in the captain’s room, and when I came on deck I saw the stern of the ship, perhaps a mile or two distant, and sailing away.  Of course my shouts and wavings were of no avail.  She had probably recognized the derelict Sparhawk and had made a note of her present position, in order to report to the hydrographic office.

The weather had been fair for the most part of the time, the sea moderately smooth, and when the wind was strong, the great sail on the mizzen-mast, which remained hoisted and which I had tightened up a little, acted after the manner of the long end of a weather-vane, and kept the ship’s head to the sea.

Thus it will be seen that I was not in a bad plight; but although I appreciated this, I grew more and more troubled and uneasy.  For several days I had not seen a sail, and if I should see one how could I attract attention?  It must be that the condition of the vessel indicated that there was no one on board.  Had I known that the Sparhawk was already entered upon the list of derelicts, I should have been hopeless indeed.

At first I hung out a lantern as a night signal, but on the second night it was broken by the wind, and I could find only one other in good condition.  The ship’s lights must have been blown away in the storm, together with her boats and much of her rigging.  I would not hang out the only lantern left me, for fear it should come to grief, and that I should be left in the dark at night in that great vessel.  Had I known that I was on a vessel which had been regularly relegated to the ranks of the forsaken, I should better have appreciated the importance of allowing passing vessels to see that there was a light on board the Sparhawk, and, therefore, in all probability a life.

As day after day had passed, I had become more and more disheartened.  It seemed to me that I was in a part of the great ocean avoided by vessels of every kind, that I was not in the track of anything going anywhere.  Every day there seemed to be less and less wind, and when I had been on board a week, the Sparhawk was gently rising and falling on a smooth sea in a dead calm.  Hour after hour I swept the horizon with the captain’s glass, but only once did I see anything to encourage me.  This was what appeared like a long line of black smoke against the distant sky, which might have been left by a passing steamer; but, were this the case, I never saw the steamer.

Happily, there were plenty of provisions on board of a plain kind.  I found spirits and wine, and even medicines, and in the captain’s room there were pipes, tobacco, and some books.