The helm was put hard a port, but alas! it was too late. Next moment down with the send of a great sea came the shape. There was a crash amidships, as if the Boo-boo-boo had been blown broadside on to a rock. She heeled over till her starboard-yard ends almost touched the water. No one on board expected she could right herself again, yet slowly she did so, and was once more upon an even keel.
The pumps were now got to work; the barque was badly stove, and filling fast.
By those of the crew not engaged pumping, an attempt was made, under the supervision of the mate, to rig a device, with the aid of poles, blankets, and tarpaulins, to stop if possible the terrible leak. This was lowered over the side, and was far more successful than could have been expected.
But it was evident to all that the ship could not be kept long afloat, so all haste was now made to get the boats ready, and to provision and arm them.
Before this business was completed daylight began to glare, yellow and grey, through the fog; but the fog by itself was evidently thinner, and presently it lifted entirely, and went rolling away like a tall black wall to leeward. Then the sun shone over the sea with a brightness that was quite dazzling.
“Look!” cried the mate to the captain, “what is that down to leeward? A ship, sir?”
“It is a ship,” replied D’Acre gloomily; “she is doubtless a derelict, and she it was who worked our ruin.”
“A derelict, sir?”
“Yes, mate; there are many of them in these seas, and they constitute a danger against which the mariner is powerless to guard himself.”[8]
“But come,” he continued, “we will put about and bear down towards her. She is high out of the water, and still has one mast and her jibboom standing. She cannot have been abandoned long.”