Perhaps he failed to catch her words. His eyes were strained shoreward as the barque swayed and lurched under their feet, tossed to and fro by the surging billows, which again and again broke over the deck. It was marvellous how Millie managed to stand at all.
Each minute the broad irregular line of breakers seemed to draw nearer; each minute their angry crests seemed to leap higher. The very terror of the sight was fascinating, for in a short time they would themselves be in the grip of those furious waters. The rudderless vessel could not be guided, a makeshift attempt at a rudder having proved valueless; and in any case she could not, without masts, have escaped from the clutch of the strong current which dragged her onwards to her fate. But whatever Mildred Pattison felt below the surface, she remained outwardly composed. She was not one of the shrieking and hysterical kind.
Apathetic indifference seemed to have settled down for a while upon the crew, only seven of whom remained. Nothing further could be done. Not even a boat was left to them, or they would no doubt have tried launching it, however hopelessly.
Nearer, and nearer, and yet nearer, they drew to the rocks. It was worse, waiting thus for the final crash, than if the crash had come unexpectedly; worse in some respects. The end was so sure, yet so gradual.
True, time was given them for thought and prayer, and for this they might well be grateful. But Millie felt herself unable either to think or to pray. This may have been a mistake. She did think unconsciously; and while definite words or sentences of petition were impossible, the whole attitude of her heart was a despairing cry for help. She had not, perhaps, sufficiently practised habits of steady prayer in happier hours, and during late months she had yielded herself too much of a victim to a spirit of heavy repining. Now, in dire danger, she could not shake herself free from the clog which she had hung round her own neck. She seemed to be dulled, wordless, helpless.
Was Christ indeed on board this barque, as He had been on board the boat which crossed Galilee's waters, not in Bodily Form, but none the less absolutely present? To Captain Pattison, a man of childlike trust, it was so undoubtedly. But to Millie Pattison? If things spiritual are verily to us "according to our faith," then, according to Millie's lack of trust, she had not that Divine Presence to bear her through the bitter hour, not consciously and comfortingly at all events.
The Captain would not let her go down below. He had noted her shudder at the thought, and crossing the deck was no easy or safe matter. He went himself, and brought the fair-haired child of two, still half asleep, wrapped warmly in a thick shawl and folded in his arms.
"Shall I take her?" asked Millie.
"No, no; you keep yourself free. I've told Bill Jonson to mind and see if he can do anything for you, and he will. They're trying on shore to launch a boat."
"It's been thrown back twice. And how can they get to us, with those rocks between?"