His two mates and Mayo followed, and the engineer, freshly arrived from forward, leaped after them. But as fast as they tossed a man upon the quarter-deck he was up and in the boat again fighting for a place.
“Throw 'em overboard!” roared the master, venting a terrible oath. He knocked one of the maddened wretches into the sea. The next moment the captain was flat on his back, and the sailors were trampling on him.
Most of the surges came riding rail-high; sometimes an especially violent wave washed the deck aft.
Following it, a chasm regularly opened under the vessel's counter, a swirling pit in the ocean twenty feet deep.
There was good fortune as well as misfortune in the affair of the yawl. When at last it dropped it avoided the period of the chasm.
In spite of the efforts of the captain and his helpers the sailors succeeded in slashing away the davit tackle. A swelling roller came up to meet the boat as the last strand gave way and swept it, with its freight, out into the night. But as it went Mayo clutched a davit pulley and swung in midair.
The dizzy depths of the sea opened under him as he dangled there and gazed down.
An instant later all his attention was focused on Alma Marston, who stood in the companionway clutching its sides and shrieking out her fears. The lantern showed her to him plainly. Its radiance lighted him also. He called to her several times, angrily at last.
“Where is that man, Bradish?” he demanded, fiercely.
It seemed as if his arms would be pulled out. He could not reach the davit iron from where he hung; the schooner's rail was too far away, though he kicked his feet in that direction.