“We’ve had krakens and mermaids and all variety of horrid beasts,” said one old tar, with his jaw a-shaking, “and now the foul fiend has that anchor, and is pulling us ashore with it.”
The chain had run out to its length, but the anchor had found no bottom. A cracking and grinding of the links could be heard, as if a tug of war were going on between two giants that had this chain between them. Bits of rust powdered off, and the strain was tearing splinters from the timbers. A loud snap,—the chain had parted. Down went the anchor, but again not straight,—off toward the land, and one free link of the chain shot as if from a gun straight toward the shore, whizzing with ever-increasing speed until it was out of sight. The men looked at one another in amaze.
“Get up the stores,” shouted the captain, “and be ready all to quit the ship.” He added to his mates, “A half hour’s the longest we can hope for. The Rose of May will be on the black cliff by that. Is the clerk praying? Good! We may get away in the boats, but we’ll end our days here in the Manillas. Alack, my Betsy! I’ll never look into her eyes again.”
“She’s down a little by the head, an’t please you,” cried a sailor, running aft.
“Ease her a little, then. Toss over some of the dunnage.”
“Lor’! Lor’! Spare us all this day!” yelled a sailor a minute later.
“What is it?”
“I tried to put my knife on the rail here, while I gripped the line I was to cut, when it tugged at my hand like a live thing. In a fright I let go, and away it flew toward the shore. Oh, we’ve reached the Devil’s country. Why ever did I leave England?”
“How of the compass?”
“It points steady to that rock.”