Then again she lifted and was borne on, apparently hundreds of yards, to go crashing over the rough rocks again with a strange, deep, grinding sound which lasted for some moments, before they were at rest on nearly an even keel.
“Fast!” cried Bostock. “She’ll never stir again, sir. Ground her way all among the jagged coral rock, and she’s held as fast now as a ship’s boat pitched in a sea o’ spikes.”
Doctor Kingsmead made no reply for some little time, while the old sailor waited in vain for him to speak.
“Hurt, sir?” he cried at last.
“No,” was the reply, followed by a deep sigh but faintly heard in the roar of the wind.
“Then I’ll try if I can’t get a light, sir, afore one of us is. Seems nice to be still once more. Do you know, sir, as we may reckon as we’re saved?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, almost inaudibly; “but I can hardly believe it true.”
There was a clicking noise, and spark after spark of faint phosphorescent light across the black darkness.
This was repeated again and again, but without further effect.
“No go, sir,” cried Bostock then. “Got my matches wet, sir. If I lives to get through this I’ll allus keep ’em corked up in a bottle.”