“Here I am, Captain Keene, close under your lee.”
“The gale is broke; we shall have fair weather before the morning.”
“Yes, sir; I have thought so some time.”
“Thank God for His mercy; we must trust that He will not leave us here to perish miserably.”
“No, I hope not,” replied Cross; “let us trust in Him, but I confess I see but little chance.”
“So have many others, yet they have been saved, Cross.”
“Very true, sir,” replied he: “I wish it was daylight.”
We had, however, three or four hours to wait; but during that time the wind gradually subsided, and then went down to a light and fitful breeze. At dawn of day the mast rose and fell with the swell of the sea, which still heaved after the late commotion, but without any run in any particular direction, for it was now calm. I had been sitting on the mast with my back against the futtock-shrouds; I now rose up with difficulty, for I was sorely bruised, and stood upon the mast clear from the water, to look around me. About thirty yards from us was the wreck of the foremast with many men clinging to it. The mizen-mast had broken adrift. The fore part of the frigate was several feet above water, and the bowsprit steeved in the air; of the after part there were but three or four broken timbers to be seen clear of the water, so deep had it been buried in the sand.
Cross had risen on his feet, and was standing by me, when we were hailed from the wreck of the fore-mast, “Main-mast, ahoy!”
“Halloo!” replied Cross.