ving
onward,--coming towards the carcass of the _cachalot_.

How were they coming? They could not be walking upon the water: they
must be aboard a ship?

This interrogatory occurred to those who stood upon the whale. Could
they have answered it in the affirmative, their own voices would soon
have been uplifted in a joyous huzza; while the hail "Ship ahoy!" would
have been sent through the sombre shadows of the mist, in the hope of
its receiving an answer.

Why was the hail not heard? Why did the crew of the _Catamaran_ stand
listening to those voices without making challenge, and with looks that
betokened apprehension rather than relief?

Six words that escaped from the lips of Ben Brace will explain the
silence of himself and his companions, as well at the dissatisfied air
that had impressed itself upon their faces. The six words were:--

"_Dangnation! it be the big raft_!"

CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE.

UNPLEASANT CONJECTURES.

"Dangnation! it be the big raft."

Such was the singular speech that fell from the lips of the sailor, and
with an accent that proclaimed it ominous. And why ominous? Why should
the presence of that embarkation--known to them as the "big raft"--cause
apprehension to the crew of the _Catamaran_?

So far as Ben Brace and little William were concerned, the question has
been already answered. It may be remembered with what feelings of alarm
they first listened to the voices of Snowball and Lilly Lalee,--heard in
a similar manner during the darkness of the night,--and with what
suspicious caution they had made their approach to the Coromantee in the
middle of his casks. It may be remembered for what reason they were
thus suspicious, for it was then given,--a dread on the part of
William--and a great one, too--of being devoured by that cannibal crew;
and on the part of his generous protector a fear of becoming a victim to
their revenge.

The same motive for their fears still existed; and their apprehension of
being approached by the raft was as unabated as ever.

Snowball's dread of the _Pandora's_ people might not have been so acute,
but for a certain circumstance that came before his mind. He had been
made aware,--by sundry ill-usage he had received from the slaver's
captain and mate, just previous to the climax of the catastrophe,--that
he was himself regarded as the author of it. He knew he had been; and
he supposed that the thing must have become known to the rest of the
cre