“We’re sinking, lads. It’s the boat, now, or certain death by drowning.”
But the boat had been swept away. Old Jack uttered a cry of dismay.
The water was up to their waists now, and various movable objects were floating about as if on the surface of the sea itself.
“Cling to this, lads,” shouted Jack, as a wooden grating that had been near the forecastle drifted before them.
They obeyed him just in time, for a gigantic wave enveloped the deck and swept the ship from beneath them.
Clinging to the grating they were flung upon the boiling waters about them.
“She’s gone down,” they heard Jack’s voice say. “It is a matter of endurance now.”
Tom was half fainting with terror, while Will, chilled and benumbed, blindly, hopelessly clung to the frail craft.
At the mercy of the waves, it drifted to and fro, now on the crest of the waves, now in the trough of the sea, always half submerged, the salt sea-water blinding and choking the three voyagers.
It was an awful experience for the imperiled trio. Only the staunch, encouraging words of Jack Marcy, ringing above the tempest, kept them from utterly succumbing to the terrors of their situation.