The barque had been dashed stern-foremost upon the rocks. She had been lifted by one of those mighty waves, or “bores,” that during a storm like this sometimes rise to the height of fifty feet or more, and hurrying onwards sweep over islands, and pass, leaving in their wake only death and destruction.
After the masts had gone clean by the board, there were loud grating noises for a short time, then the motion of the ship ceased—and ceased for ever and ay.
Nelda’s voice, calling for her father, brought the boy to himself.
“I’m here, dear,” he sang out. “It is all right; I’ll go and get a light; lie still.”
“Oh, don’t leave me. Tell me, tell me,” wept the wee lass, “is the ship at the bottom? And are we all drowned?”
Luckily, Janeira now managed to strike a light, and poor Nelda’s mind was calm once more.
Bob had slept on the sofa cushions all throughout this dreadful night; but Ransey was now very much astonished, indeed, to see the stately ’Ral walk solemnly in at the door, and gently lower his head and long neck over Nelda, that she might scratch his chin.
“Oh, you dear, droll ’Rallie,” cried the child, smiling through her tears, “and so you’re not drowned?”
But no one could tell where the ’Ral had spent the night.
Under the influence of great terror, the Admiral was in the habit of “trussing” himself, as the sailors called it—that is, he close-reefed his long neck till his head was on a level with his wings, and his long bill lying downwards along his crop. Then he drew up his thighs, and lowered himself down over his legs. He was a comical sight thus trussed, and seemed sitting on his tail, and no taller than a barn-door fowl. It was convenient for him, however, for he could thus stow himself away into any corner, and be in nobody’s way.