“No, sir. The gig might go as fast as the cutter, but the other boat would not be able to keep pace with her.”
“Well, make all preparations for lowering. Heaven only knows what tragedy may have taken place there.”
After all had been got ready, every eye on board the cutter was fixed on the vessel. There was no doubt now that she was getting deeper in the water every minute. When they got within a quarter of a mile of the ship she was so low that it was evident she could not float many minutes longer.
“To the boats, men,” Will cried, “row for your lives.”
A moment later three boats started at full speed. The gig, in which Dimchurch and Tom were both rowing, was first to search the sinking ship. Will leapt on board at once, and as he did so he gave an exclamation of horror, for the deck was strewn with dead bodies. Without stopping to look about him he ran aft to the companion and went down to the cabin, which was already a foot deep in water. There he found some fifteen men and women sitting securely bound on the sofas. Will drew his dirk, and running along cut their thongs.
“Up on deck for your lives,” he cried, “and get into the boats alongside; she will not float three minutes.”
At the farther end of the cabin a young girl was kneeling by the side of a stout old lady, who had evidently fainted.
“Come,” Will said, going up to her, “it is a matter of life and death; we shall have the water coming down the companion in a minute or two.”
“I can’t leave her,” the girl cried.
Will attempted to lift the old lady, but she was far too heavy for him.