As it proved later, they were well aware that they must already be nearing a portion of the “Great Barrier Reef,” and that unless the wind changed, they would be carried surely and rapidly to destruction.
All deck gear had long since been either washed overboard or smashed, and two of the boats carried clean off the davits. The emigrants were battened down; whilst on deck remained captain, crew, and volunteers gazing into the gloom ahead with calm but anxious faces.
The brothers, with some half-dozen other passengers, were holding on to the shrouds for bare life—silent, because talking was out of the question in the fearful din of the elements.
Seeing the crew at the pumps, they joined them, all labouring till well-nigh exhausted, when suddenly Tim cried,—
“Look at the line of white waters.”
The next instant there was a crash and a shock, followed by several heavy bumps, which threw all hands to the deck.
“Where are we,” shouted Tim, as soon as he could muster breath.
“On the reef,” roared the captain, who was standing close by, “but work and trust in God, my lads—clear away the masts.”
This was a work of great peril, owing to the huge seas which, breaking one after another on the reef, rose over the doomed vessel.
All the boats had now been swept away but one; crew and volunteers were clinging to anything and everything they could lay their hands on.