The crew make a rush for the boats; useless; they would not live a moment in such a boil of sea. The waves fly over the vessel, now lift her, and then let her crash with the force of all her weight down upon the Sands; now they beat with tremendous force against her, and shake her each moment to her keel; the captain burns a blue light, the spray washes it out, the men hasten to get a tar-barrel on deck, knock in the top, fill it with combustibles, and light it; it flares up, and for a time resists the rush of spray with which the air is full; the light-vessel sees the signal, fires a gun and a rocket; the life-boat starts upon her mission, but the waves close in upon the doomed ship in fierce hungry strife, lifting and crashing her down time after time; the decks are soon swept of everything that the force of water can tear from them, the tar-barrel is washed out; the men can no longer remain on the deck, but have to take refuge in the rigging, where they lash themselves to the shrouds, and they wait on in darkness and despair; a tremendous wave comes boiling along, it lifts the vessel, and almost rolls her over; the strong masts snap like reeds; the ship fills and sinks in the hole she has worked by her rolling and beating in the quicksand. Another half-hour, perhaps, and the life-boat is there; too late! only the tangled spars and cordage and broken pieces of wreck float near—tokens of the death and destruction that have been wrought: and a fine ship has been thus utterly and speedily destroyed—and all living things on board being swiftly engulfed, have found their graves in the strife of that deadly sea.
CHAPTER XXV. SAVED AT LAST.
WE WILL NOT GO HOME WITHOUT THEM.
"O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!
Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now
The ship boring the moon with her mainmast,
And anon swallowed with yest and froth;
How the poor souls roared, and the sea
Mocked them."