Meantime part of the crew had tried the pumps, and been washed away from them twice by seas, floating helplessly about the main deck, and clutching at rigging to save themselves, but nevertheless discovering that the brig was filling but slowly, and would have full time to strike before she could founder.
"'Vast there!" called the captain; "'vast the pumps! All hands stand by to launch the boats!"
"Long boat's stove!" shouted the mate, putting his hands to his mouth so as to be heard through the gale.
"All hands aft!" was the next order. "Stand by to launch the quarter-boats!"
So the entire remaining crew—two mates and eight men, including the steward—splashed and clambered on to the quarter-deck and took station by the boat-falls, hanging on as they could.
"Can I do anything?" asked Thurstane.
"Not yet," answered the captain; "you are doing what's right; take care of the lady."
"What are the chances?" the lieutenant ventured now to inquire.
With fate upon him, and seemingly irresistible, the skipper had dropped his grim air of conflict and become gentle, almost resigned. His voice was friendly, sympathetic, and quite calm, as he stepped up by Thurstane's side and said, "We shall have a tough time of it. The land is only about ten miles away. At this rate we shall strike it inside of three hours. I don't see how it can be helped."
"Where shall we strike?"