“Perhaps it might,” said the other; “but I very much doubt it.”
“Well, sorr, we’ll say,” retorted the mate. However, the argument was settled offhand by Ben Boltrope, who had clambered up to a higher ledge of rock from whence he could see further out to seaward over the fog, which hung low on the water and did not extend to the upper regions of the air.
“There she is, your honour, bless her old heart!” he exclaimed. “She’s still hard and fast on the reef, and never another plank sprung from the starn, as far as I can see!”
This was good news; and Mr Meldrum, with the mate, hastened to join the carpenter on his perch above.
Yes, there in the distance, rising out of the mist, could be seen the upper portion of the poop of the Nancy Bell, although the wreck was still occasionally obscured by a wave breaking over it; and, presently, on the lifting of the fog, as the clouds cleared off from the face of the sky and a gleam of sunshine stole out, lighting up the sea and landscape around, it could be observed that the remains of the vessel were nearly in the same condition, apparently, as when last noticed on the evening before—save that the poor ship was now surrounded by a line of breakers which dashed over the stern continually, looking as if they meant to pull it in pieces before they had done with it!
“She’s shifted more on to her side,” said Mr Meldrum, who had taken out a glass from his pocket and was now inspecting the remains of the old ship more carefully. “I can see the deck clearly. The waves are spurting up through the hole where the skylight was removed, so the cabins must be pretty well washed out by this time.”
“Ah! that’s the rayson we couldn’t say the flag, sorr,” observed the mate.
“It is there still,” replied Mr Meldrum; “although it is now all to port, instead of right amidships as it was when we left. This is on account of the mizzen-mast stump leaning over into the water, for I couldn’t see it myself till I took the glass. She can’t last much longer, though. Those seas are breaking over her with frightful force, judging by the amount of surf they send up, and they must soon make an end of her!”
“I hope it’ll calm down a bit, sir,” said Ben Boltrope. “I’m nervous about them timbers for the roof of the house.”
“Be aisy with you, man,” put in Mr McCarthy. “Sure an’ all the anxiety in the worruld won’t dhrive a pig to market! If we’re to have the crathur’s planks we’ll have thim sure enough; and if we aren’t, why we won’t, that’s all about it!”