The storm was upon them—wind, thunder, rain. With her rudder disabled, the vessel lay helpless. And the mate had no more than spoken when the jigger topmast snapped with a sharp crack and came crashing down with the topsail and gaff. The splintered topmast lay on deck, but the gaff had fallen clean of the gunwale, and floated on the waves. Everything was in confusion. The sails were jibing, and the seamen were rushing about, ducking out of the way of the booms.
Captain Bearman came up the companion ladder to take possession of the deck. (It was the beginning of the morning watch.) He heard the crash and hastened, his face full of alarm. But as he emerged, the jigger boom swung round and struck him in such a way that he was swept clear of his ship, and, temporarily dazed, recovered his senses in the water.
V
From out the tempestuous maw of the sea came the bawling voice of the Skipping Goone’s unfortunate master.
“Help! Help! Throw me a line, d’you hear?”
But though the mate heard well enough, he was too good a seaman to take any heed. Out of the corner of his eye he had already noted that the jigger gaff floated near at hand. The captain could temporarily take care of himself, while the mate took care of the vessel.
It was time for quick action.
They were lowering the sails. That done, the mate caught one of the seamen by the arm and shouted in his ear: “Go aft and haul in the log!”
Then rapid preparations were made for taking a sounding.
“Run up forward with the deepsea lead, and carry the line from the poop, but keep it well outboard”—however, as they feared, the depth was beyond the reach of their cable.