Picked up Adrift / Illustrated

by James De Mille

Yet this place had its own terrors, which were fully equal to any others. The wind howled fearfully through the rigging, and as the ship pitched and tossed, the mast strained and quivered in unison. Often and often it seemed to them that the strained mast would suddenly snap and go over the side, or, if not, that in its violent jerks it might hurl them all over to destruction. More than once they thought of guarding against this last danger by following Pat’s example, and binding themselves to the rigging; but they were deterred from this by the fear of the mast falling, in which case they, too, would be helpless. Fortunate it was for them that there were no sails. These had long since been rent away; but had they been here now, or had the wind taken any stronger hold of the masts, they must have gone by the board.

Often and often, as some larger wave than usual struck the ship, the feeling came that all was over, and that now, at last, her break-up was beginning; often and often, as she sank far down, and the waters rolled over her quarter, and held her there, the fear came to them that at last her hour had come—that she was sinking; and with this fear they looked down, expecting to see the waters rise to where they were standing. And then, in every one of these moments of deadly fear, they raised, as before, their cries to Him who is able to save.

So passed away hour after hour, until the duration of time seemed endless, and it was to all of them as though they had spent days in their place of peril, instead of hours only.

At length they became sensible of a diminution in the power of the wind. At first they hardly dared to believe it, but after a time it became fully evident that such was the case. The cessation of the wind at once relieved the ship very materially, though the sea was still high, and the waters below relaxed but little from their rage. But the cessation of the wind filled them all with hope, and they now awaited, with something like firmness, the subsidence of the waves.

That subsidence did come, and was gradually evident. It was slow, yet it was perceptible. They first became aware that those giant waves no longer fell in thunder upon the quarter-deck, and that the ship no longer seemed to be dragged down into those deep, watery abysses into which they had formerly seemed to be descending.

“There’s no mistake about it, boys,” said Bruce at length, in tones that were tremulous with fervent joy; “the storm is going down.”

This was the first word that had been spoken for hours, and the sound of these spoken words itself brought joy to all hearts. The spell was broken. The horror vanished utterly from their souls.

“Yes,” cried Bart, in tones as tremulous as those of Bruce, and from the same cause,—“yes, the worst is over!”

“I don’t mind this pitching,” said Tom; “it seems familiar. I think to-night has been equal to my night in the Bay of Fundy—only it hasn’t been so long, and it’s seemed better to have you fellows with me than being alone.”

“I had a hard time in the woods,” said Phil, “but this has been quite equal to it.”