“’Taint much use anyway,” said Johnnie.  “I doubt that precious few of them will come up again.  They have gone too deep!”

However, they got the boat’s head round again—­slowly enough, Augusta thought—­and as they did so they heard a feeble cry or two.  But by the time that they had reached the spot where the Kangaroo went down, there was no living creature to be seen; nothing but the wash of the great waves, over which the mist once more closed thick and heavy as a pall.  They shouted, and once they heard a faint answer, and rowed towards it; but when they got to the spot whence the sound seemed to proceed, they could see nothing except some wreckage.  They were all dead, their agony was done, their cries no more ascended to the pitiless heavens; and wind, and sky, and sea were just as they had been.

“Oh, my God! my God!” wept Augusta, clinging to the thwarts of the tossing boat.

“One boat got away—­where is it?” asked Mr. Meeson, who, a wet and wretched figure, was huddled up in the stern-sheets, as he rolled his wild eyes round striving to pierce the curtain of the mist.

“There’s something,” said Johnnie, pointing through a fog-dog in the mist, that seemed to grow denser rather than otherwise as the light increased, at a round, boat-like object that had suddenly appeared to the starboard of them.

They rowed up to it; it was a boat, but empty and floating bottom upwards.  Closer examination showed that it was the cutter, which, when full of women and children, had been fastened to the vessel and dragged down with her as she sank.  At a certain depth the pressure of the water had been too great and had torn the ring in the bow bodily out of her, so that she returned to the surface.  But those in her did not return—­at least, not yet.  Once more, two or three days hence, they would arise from the watery depths and look upon the skies with eyes that could not see, and then vanish for ever.

Turning from this awful and most moving sight, they rowed slowly through quantities of floating wreckage—­barrels, hencoops (in one of these they found two drowned fowls, which they secured), and many other articles, such as oars and wicker deck-chairs—­and began to shout vigorously in the hope of attracting the attention of the survivors in the other boat, which they imagined could not be far off.  Their efforts, however, proved fruitless, owing to the thickness of the fog; and in the considerable sea which was running it was impossible to see more than twenty yards or so.  Also, what between the wind, and the wash and turmoil of the water, the sound of their voices did not travel far.  The ocean is a large place, and a rowing-boat is easily lost sight of upon its furrowed surface; therefore it is not wonderful that, although the two boats were at the moment within half a mile of each other, they never met, and each took its separate course in the hope of escaping the fate of the vessel.  The boat in which were Lady Holmhurst