Chapter XXXIII. The Light In The Gaulton Cave.
The favourable breeze from the northwest continued with little
variation for several days after the foundering of the Pilgrim, and
I kept the schooner on the one tack, sailing before the wind, with
the tiller often tied up for many hours together without my needing
to touch it. I contrived, after many failures, to take an
observation on the second day, for the sky was then clear, and I
had all the necessary appliances excepting only the skill to use
the quadrant with a seaman's confidence. I made out that I was to
the northwest of the Faroe Islands, and I made no doubt that I
should sight one of that group in the course of that same day or
the day after.
But such was not to be my good luck. For eight full days and nights
I kept on the same course, with a dull, leaden sky above and a mist
creeping over the sea, and never a bit of land could I discover,
nor any light, whether of beacon or of ship.
On the twelfth day after the sinking of the Pilgrim, however, I
saw, to my great joy, a strip of land on the southeastern horizon.
I had not the slightest notion whether it belonged to the Faroe or
to the Shetland islands, but I fancied it might be the latter. It
was a small island with a high rocky coast, and a vast number of
sea fowl flying about and above it.
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