In the meantime, Captain Saunders had got some food ready on the cabin stove, and at midnight they all went into the cabin and had a good meal and a stiff glass of grog each. Afterwards the watch was set and there was no more trouble about the work. The men had found their master, and they worked all the better for the experience.
The following day the gale moderated and the sea went down. The wreck of the lower topsails was sent down, and fresh sails were bent, and with all sail set we had a good run over to the Australian coast.
The day before we made the coast the wind hauled into the north, and was soon blowing a stiff gale, and the leaky old craft had to be reduced to lower topsails again. The short choppy sea met with on the Australian coast caused the old barque to leak at an alarming rate, and the pumps had to be kept continually going to keep her afloat. It seemed as though the vessel was doomed not to reach port. To make matters worse, at midnight the gale backed into the south-west and at the same time the man on the look-out reported breakers on the lee-bow.
“Loose the upper topsail!” cried the captain. “We must force her off or under.”
A few men left the pumps and sprang aloft. As soon as they reached the topsail yard they called out:
“Breakers all along the lee!”
“Shut your mouth, and loose the sails!” replied the captain grimly. “You’ll know all about the breakers when she strikes.”
“Hoist away,” came from aloft, and the pumps were stopped a few minutes while the sails were set.
The old barque staggered along under the increased pressure, and seemed to be heading just along the coast, but fortunately for us the current setting to the S.S.W. just counteracted the leeway the ship was making, and when the welcome daylight appeared she just cleared Port Stevens and squared away for Newcastle.
When the yards were squared and all the danger past, the captain called all hands aft and congratulated them on having been enabled to bring the ship safely across under such terrible conditions, and gave each man a good glass of grog. Then, as we looked at him, to our astonishment we saw that Captain Saunders could never again be called “Black Saunders,” for his hair and beard had turned quite grey during the preceding night, and in his eyes was the look of one who had touched shoulders with death. Those terrible twelve hours of anxiety had left a mark that time would never efface.