“Well, Dick, we may reach Valparaiso, or any other part of the coast.  What matter?  What we want is to land.”

“And we shall do it, Mrs. Weldon, and I shall land you on a good place,” replied the young man, in a firm voice.  “Besides, in standing in for the land, I do not renounce the hope of encountering some of those vessels which do the coasting trade on that shore.  Ah!  Mrs. Weldon, the wind begins to blow steadily from the northwest!  God grant that it may keep on; we shall make progress, and good progress.  We shall drive in the offing with all our sails set, from the brigantine to the flying-jib!”

Dick Sand had spoken with the confidence of the seaman, who feels that he stands on a good ship, a ship of whose every movement he is master.  He was going to take the helm and call his companions to set the sails properly, when Mrs. Weldon reminded him that he ought first to know the “Pilgrim’s” position.

It was, indeed, the first thing to do.  Dick Sand went into the captain’s cabin for the chart on which the position of the day before was indicated.  He could then show Mrs. Weldon that the schooner was in latitude 43 deg. 35’, and in longitude 164 deg. 13’, for, in the last twenty-four hours, she had not, so to say, made any progress.

Mrs. Weldon leaned over this chart.  She looked at the brown color which represented the land on the right of the ocean.  It was the coast of South America, an immense barrier thrown between the Pacific and the Atlantic from Cape Horn to the shores of Columbia.  To consider it in that way, that chart, which, was then spread out under her eyes, on which was drawn a whole ocean, gave the impression that it would be easy to restore the “Pilgrim’s” passengers to their country.  It is an illusion which is invariably produced on one who is not familiar with the scale on which marine charts are drawn.  And, in fact, it seemed to Mrs. Weldon that the land ought to be in sight, as it was on that piece of paper!

And, meanwhile, on that white page, the “Pilgrim” drawn on an exact scale, would be smaller than the most microscopic of infusoria!  That mathematical point, without appreciable dimensions, would appear lost, as it was in reality in the immensity of the Pacific!

Dick Sand himself had not experienced the same impression as Mrs. Weldon.  He knew how far off the land was, and that many hundreds of miles would not suffice to measure the distance from it.  But he had taken his part; he had become a man under the responsibility which had fallen upon him.

The moment to act had come.  He must profit by this northwest breeze which was blowing up.  Contrary winds had given place to favorable winds, and some clouds scattered in the zenith under the cirrous form, indicated that they would blow steadily for at least a certain time.

Dick called Tom and his companions.

“My friends,” he said to them, “our ship has no longer any crew but you.  I cannot work without your aid.  You are not sailors, but you have good arms.  Place them, then, at the ‘Pilgrim’s’ service and we can steer her.  Every one’s salvation depends on the good work of every one on board.”