No tool was forthcoming—none could be found; when the captain had ordered the masts to be cut away, men shrunk from crossing that terrible storm-swept deck, even our hero who had faced the bloodhound, felt his spirit quail, but only for an instant. Turning to get a view of the captain, he saw that which decided him. The skipper was standing with one arm round the mizen-shrouds, his hair and beard apparently almost swept from his head by hurricane and brine; but the expression on his face!
Mat had once seen a copy of one of the grandest faces that he had conceived possible—it was that of an ancient martyr.
There he saw the same look, at the same moment of death in life, on his beloved captain’s features. As Mat turned round, their eyes met, the skipper gave him one sad nod, which contained a world of meaning; Mat, without thinking of either storm or wave, made a rush, burst open the cabin-door, and returned safely with his forest axe to his post of temporary shelter, the next moment an enormous billow swept the deck he had lately trod.
Watching his opportunity, with a few sharply delivered strokes, our forester sent the mizen-mast overboard, this was shortly followed by the main-mast, for two of the crew having witnessed Mat’s daring act, had seized his axe, prevented his following them, and felled the main-mast before another wave covered the spot where they stood; the fore-mast then went by the board, and as if the gallant ship had made an effort to shake herself free, by thus heaving over this last obstacle to her righting—she had been on her beam ends—relieved now of her top weight, she rose again, but alas! only to be lifted in one wild plunge farther on to the reef.
This last shock was too much for her solid timbers, and she broke her back.
“Let the emigrants up,” hoarsely shouted the captain; and then commenced a scene which, if it were possible, added fresh horrors to the situation. In hundreds they came on deck, some of the men yelling and cursing, others the picture of fright and despair; but all struggling and fighting to get to the one boat left. The poor women screaming, praying, and beseeching, the whole forming a maddened crowd of human beings, most of whom were washed about the deck, till stunned and bleeding, they were swept overboard. Some dozens of both men and women had seized the boat, and managed in the frenzy of despair, and despite the efforts of captain and crew to prevent them, to get it overboard; but the few that succeeded in jumping in were at once engulfed with the craft in the whirlpool of mighty waters: a last despairing shriek being heard even above the horrible din as they disappeared, a huge sea overwhelming them, as it careered onwards with its white crest towards the land, a glimpse of which could now be seen for an instant looming through the lurid sky.
Another moment, and the poor old ship parted asunder, the brothers finding themselves clinging to the poop, together with the captain and two others.
“Every man for himself, and God for us all,” cried the skipper; “but I stick to this last bit of my old ship; if any one thinks he can swim ashore, he can try; but I hardly advise it.”
“We’ll stand by you,” said the brothers in a breath, as they grasped each other’s hands.
That portion of the hull on which stood the last few survivors, was evidently being impelled by a current, and at this moment was drifting past a headland, which appeared to be some quarter of a mile away.