Part 20

Harper still looked steadily through his glasses.

“By the Lord! sir, that looks uncommonly like a line of breakers! There--to port!”

The skipper made one hesitating step forward, and then the truth flashed on him like lightning.

“Great Scott!” he cried again, “so it is! Call all hands. Hands ‘bout ship!” Then he turned to the man at the wheel, who was the Russian Finn the bo’sun objected to as unlucky, “Keep her clean full for stays.”

The men came tumbling out from the holes and corners where they had stowed away, and the watch below came up growling audibly at having their rest disturbed, but none apparently understanding the danger of the situation. It is all in the day’s work that a sailor should be disturbed before he has had more than a taste of the bliss of sleep. The wild tumbling waters and the shrieking wind told them no tale; they only thought the wind had gone round and freshened a bit since they went below.

Harper standing on the fife rail at the crojack braces could have told them a different story. Clearly he saw the danger. There ahead, a little to leeward, were the long line of breakers; even in this pitchy darkness he could see their white foam-topped crests against the inky water; he fancied that even above the roaring of the wind through the rigging he could distinguish the crash with which they flung themselves hungrily against the rocks, the long-drawn sob as of disappointment with which they fell back into the sea again, there to gather strength for a fresh onslaught. Above them was the loom of the land showing only like thick cloud-bank against the horizon, and the bright light beckoning, it seemed, with friendly hands.

“Ready about!” shouted the skipper.

“O--o--oh, o--o--oh, o--o--oh!” sang the men at the braces in mournful monotone. Bang went the wet sail against the mast, and the second mate from his vantage point watched her slowly come up to wind. Slowly--slowly--the towering seas came pouring aboard--she took it in by the deck-house by ton loads, and the men all hung on to the nearest thing handy for dear life. Slowly, slowly her nose came up to the wind. Would she go round? Would she? Would she?

“Gummy!” he heard the bo’sun’s voice near him in the darkness, and above all the din; “she is a blanked old bathing machine, ain’t she?”

Nobody disputed the fact. Would she come round? Would she? Would she? Surely she was coming.

Then there was a pause for a brief second. Every man in that pause, it seemed, realized the gravity of the situation.

By Jingo! Will she come? Will she not?

Then the hoarse voice of the skipper broke in.

“Up with your helm, hard up! Flatten in your head sheets! Haul in your weather cro’jack brace!”

“Jammed, by G--d!” said the bo’sun, taking a squint over the side at the racing water and the ship rolling helplessly in the trough of the seas, “jammed, by G--d! like Jackson’s cat.”

The ship was in irons. “Would they ever get out of this fix?” thought Harper, while he listened to the skipper shouting orders to the man at the wheel, as she gathered stern-way and heard the Russian Finn’s hoarse:

“Helm’s amidships, sir,” in reply. He was a plucky old man, old Alick MacDonald, given to carrying on as long as he dared, which was a good deal longer than most men would have dared, and his second mate had seen him in some very tight places already, but his good luck had always stood him in good stead; would it hold good once more?

Gradually the ship paid off, slowly her nose came round, and Harper, looking at the foaming line of breakers, thought how perilously close they were. But--but--surely after all she would come through scot free, a moment more--only a moment more. The moon came from behind the heavy clouds paling the light ashore before her bright rays, and showing them just for a second the seething white water all around. So close was the danger, every man held his breath.

“We’re clear!” The words were on Harper’s lips, then--crash--the ship struck with a sickening shock that shook her from stem to stern, and brought down the foreto’g’ll’t mast from aloft with all its tackle, and strewed the deck with wreckage. In a moment the men had dropped the ropes and rushed as one man aft to be clear of the falling top hamper.

“Stand fast, men, stand fast!” sung out Harper. “Where are you off to there?”

“Well,” growled the bo’sun, who still stood by the second mate, “hell’s the next port, if you ask me!” And his companion could not but wonder at his coolness. He too, clinging for life, realized that the good ship Vanity was a total wreck, and as he realized it, he raised his eyes and saw the light, which had been their guiding star till now, go suddenly out and leave all the cliff in pitchy darkness.

Crash went the ship again, bumping heavily and bringing down more hamper from aloft to add to the confusion on deck, and sea after sea swept over her. The two men scrambled aft, and above the thunder of the seas that fell aboard and the roar of the breakers that were not to be disappointed of their prey, heard the skipper shouting orders for the launching of the life-boat. It seemed to Harper no boat could live in such a raging sea, of a surety no boat could land on such a coast--at least not the coast as he knew it, the coast where was the Mackie selection--and the Mackie selection was somewhere hereabouts, you might see the light of their kitchen fire from--Good God! it came upon him like a flash--was that the light that had led them to destruction?

But there was no time for questions like that. The idea passed through his mind as he heard the skipper shout,

“Port watch, rig tackles! Starboard watch, see port life-boat all clear for going out!”

The raging wind and sea seemed to have gone down for a moment, now they had accomplished their end. The moon came out again, and he saw the watch at the skids, and the tall figure of the first mate as he stood on the boat, ripping off the covering with a sheath knife. One step forward he made to go to his assistance when there rose a towering wall of dark water to wind’ard.

“Stand from under--stand from under!” yelled every throat, but it was too late. It was doubtful if they heard, it was certain they had no time to get away. The wave came on resistlessly, and when the water had passed over them, boat and skids, part of the bulwarks, the first mate, and half the starboard watch had been swept away. There was a wailing cry above the roar of the seas, but it was impossible to say who had gone.

“Gone to port,” muttered the bo’sun, “an’ darned quick too!” And that was their requiem, for now it was each man for himself. The old skipper’s voice was silent, and the second mate feared he too must have been carried overboard by the last sea.

“Jump for a blue light,” he said to a boy next him, who was clinging to the broken skylight, “they’re in the locker in the cabin.”