Appleby went up the masthoops, and could just make out something that swung into sight now and then against the whiteness of the surf behind it. It was, he surmised, a boat, and he saw that Jordan was watching her under the main-boom.
"The Russian!" he said. "It don't seem sense to let her get that close in with the rocks to lee."
"Somebody waving!" said Stickine, who had taken up the glasses. "They're used up, and can't pull her out against the sea."
There was silence for at least another minute, while the men stared at the whirling spray and the dusky object that was hove up every now and then, and Niven shivered a little, for he could guess what would happen to worn-out men, hurled upon those fangs of rock by the frothing sea. The reefs would mangle them out of human semblance, in all probability. Then Jordan glanced to weather at the big froth-tipped slopes of water that rolled up towards them, and shook his head solemnly.
"We can't let them drown," he said. "Get your maintopsail up, but let it lie below the gaff, and shake loose the outer jib. We'll want them when we come to beat her out again."
"Square away?" asked Montreal at the helm.
Jordan nodded. "Out main-boom, boys. Slack up everything."
The long boom swung outboard, the schooner swung round, and as she swept in for the reefs with the wind on her quarter now the lads realized as well as the others did, the risks the skipper was quietly taking. It was easy to run for the boat, but to beat out again would be a very different affair, and Appleby fancied that only a very handy vessel would do it once she felt the grip of the sea that grew higher as it swept forward through shallowing water to crumble on the reefs. It was also unpleasantly evident as he watched the white spouting that swimming would not be much use to him if she did not succeed. Still, he had confidence in the lean, grim-faced man who stood quietly by the house. The men in the boat would have taken the schooner from him and ruined him if they could, but Appleby knew that so long as the Champlain's spars and canvas would hold out, Jordan would not let them drown.
In another few minutes it was also apparent that the Russians were in sorest need of help, for each time she swung up the boat seemed closer to the surf. The men were pulling desperately while the spray that blew in from the streaming bows whirled about them, but every one could see they were making no headway, and the reefs were close astern. At last Jordan signed to Stickine.
"You've got to be handy, boys," he said quietly.