But now the time for entreaty had passed.
Suddenly the Antelope rolled back, and then her bows sank. A huge wave rolled over her, followed by others, which foamed from bow to stern. Then all the sea settled itself over the sinking schooner.
The Antelope was going down!
The hull disappeared!
The rail sank under water!
But Captain Corbet stood at his post, erect, rigid, his hands clasping the tiller. Beneath him the Antelope sank down into the sea. Around him the waters rolled.
They rolled about his knees; about his thighs; about his waist. His venerable hair fluttered in the breeze; his eyes were fixed, with a rapt and abstracted air, on vacancy.
The boys looked on in horror. Instinctively they pushed the boat back out of the reach of the waters that ingulfed the Antelope, so as to avoid being carried down into that vortex.
The waters rolled about the form of the aged navigator, and so he descended with his beloved Antelope, till they were above his waist.
The boys could no longer cry to him. They were petrified with horror. They sat, with white faces, awaiting the end.