The last thing that Tom heard that night was the continuous thumping, and it was the first thing that met his ears when he opened his eyes again. He went up on deck, and when he looked around him his heart fell within him. Half of the maintop-sail was blown away, the shreds standing straight out with the force of the wind. There was a great deal of water on the deck—perhaps never less than three feet on the lee side.
She was not taking much water over the weather rail, but she would take it to leeward, and then roll to windward, and the sea would go rushing across the deck, carrying everything before it.
That afternoon he stood on the poop deck looking over the side of the vessel. She was rolling with a dull, heavy motion from side to side; it was just such a motion as a log in a mill pond will take if you give it a push with your foot. He looked first astern, and then forward, and he saw that the stern was deeper in the water than the bows. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder; he looked up and saw that it was Jack Baldwin.
“Tom,” said he, in a low voice.
“What is it, Jack?”
“I’ve been looking too; do you know that the ship’s foundering?”
Tom nodded his head, for he did not feel like speaking.
“Tom,” said Jack, after a moment of silence; “what do you suppose is the reason that Captain Knight don’t give orders to have the boats cleared away, ready for lowering.”
“Perhaps he don’t think it’s time; the ship’ll last a good while longer yet, Jack.”
“Do you think that’s his reason, Tom?” said Jack.