The bows were high out of the water, as if the ship had run up a steep, submerged shelf of ice; and the seas, which the wind of the night had raised, from time to time broke over the stern. It was impossible, however, to determine the general situation of the schooner. The fog was too thick for that, and the day had not yet fully broken. All that was revealed, in a glance about, was that upon one hand lay a waste of breaking water, and upon the other a dull white mass, lifting itself into the mist.
"'Tis bad, lads," said the skipper, when the first and second hands had joined him under the mainmast shrouds.
"She's lost," said the first.
"We'll be takin' t' the boat," said the second.
"I'm not so sure that she's lost," said the skipper. "Whatever, we'll not take t' the boat till we have to."
The first and second hands exchanged a glance, and together looked at the boat. The swift glance and look were a danger-signal to the skipper.
"Does you hear me?" he shouted, his voice ringing out above the wash of the waves and the noise of the wind. "We'll not leave her. Take a spell at the pump, both o' you!"
For a moment the skipper's authority was in doubt. The men wavered. A repetition of the command, however, with clenched fists ready to enforce it, decided them. They relieved young Billy.
"Is the water gainin', b'y?" said the skipper to the lad.