With Cochrane the Dauntless

by G. A. Henty

It seemed, indeed, as if the storm had made its last effort in the great surge that had shifted the vessel forward. For although the waves still struck her with tremendous force, and they could hear an occasional rending and splintering of the timbers astern, she no longer moved, although she quivered from end to end under each blow, and worked as if at any moment she would break into fragments.

“The foremast has gone,” Stephen said presently. “I suppose it went over her bows when she struck. I am afraid none of the men have escaped. I can’t make out the head of the vessel at all.”

“They may have been washed ashore; but it is probable that the fall of the mast imprisoned them,” the captain said; “and as the stern is raised a good many feet, they must have [pg 188]been drowned at once. Poor fellows, there were some good men among them.”

“I wish we had had them all aft,” Steve exclaimed in a tone of deep regret. “Of course, we never thought of this; and indeed there was but small room for them in your little cabin. It seemed that death would come to us all together, and that their chances in the fo’c’s’le were as hopeless as ours in the stern cabin.”

“It is the will of God,” the Peruvian said philosophically; “and it is probable their turn has come only a few hours before ours.”

They sat silently for a long time. At last Stephen said: “The sea is certainly going down, and I can make out the outlines of the land. I think day will soon be breaking. We must have slept a good many hours before she struck.”

He took out his watch, but it was too dark to see the face. He opened the case and felt the position of the hands: “It is half-past three,” he said. “In another half-hour we shall have light enough to see where we are.”

Gradually the dawn spread over the sky, and they could make out that the shore was some three hundred yards away, and that trees came down almost to the water’s edge. They lay at the mouth of a small bay. As the captain had supposed, the ship’s bows were under water, and only a few inches of the top-gallant fo’c’s’le were to be seen. Another half-hour and the sun was up. Long before this Stephen had explored the wreck astern. Several feet had been torn off, and the water flowed freely in and out of the cabin. It was evident that the ship had been carried on the crest of the great wave beyond the highest point of the reef across the mouth of the bay, and to this fact she in some degree owed her preservation, as the waves broke some twenty yards astern of her, and so spent a considerable portion of their [pg 189]force before they struck her. Looking astern, the sea was still extremely heavy, but it no longer presented the angry appearance it had done on the previous day. The wind had almost dropped, the waves were no longer crested with white foam.

“In an hour or two we shall be able to get ashore,” Stephen said. “We have been saved well-nigh by a miracle, captain.”

“Saved so far,” the captain said; “but we cannot say yet what is in store, for us. These islands are, for the most part, inhabited by savage natives, who will make short work of us if we fall into their hands.”