The men obeyed the unspoken order, for it would be useless even to shout in the midst of the tumult. Rigging a tackle they awaited an opportunity to slip a stout strip over the end of the terrible flail. Over came the spar, missing a man's head by a hair's-breadth. Two of the Norwegians sought to secure the derrick during its temporary inactivity, but an extra roll to leeward caused the spar to give an irresistible lurch. The next instant the men were hurled into the mountainous sea.
Nothing could be done to save them. To lower a boat would be a worse than useless act. It would be simply throwing away human life in an impossible attempt to save two already doomed men.
One of the unfortunate wretches was apparently stunned by the blow, for he was never seen again; the other could be discerned for a brief instant as he raised his arms in a mute despairing appeal for aid that was not humanly possible; then he was lost to sight in the chaos of the dark turmoil of broken water.
Dawn was just breaking as a sudden rush of steam through the engine-room fidley, followed by the slowing down of the engines, announced the disconcerting fact that the water had put out the stokehold fires. Quickly losing way the "Roldal" rolled excessively, helpless in the trough of the raging sea.
Hanging on to the rail like grim death the now thoroughly chastened Norwegian skipper mounted the bridge. Terence offered no objection. In the hour of danger little unpleasantnesses were lost sight of. They were now human beings fighting against a common foe.
"Can you set canvas on her?" shouted Aubyn.
The Norwegian understood.
"Ay," he roared in reply. "I will see to that."
Calling half a dozen of the men the skipper, accompanied by the first and second mates, made their way for'ard, not without imminent danger of being washed overboard. From the partly flooded sail-locker a storm staysail was produced. It had been rolled up for months, perhaps for years. Its hanks were stiff with rust. It took ten minutes' hard work to bend the canvas to the forestay; then slowly it was sent up and sheeted home. Gradually the vessel's head began to pay off. Under the pressure of the sail she would run before the wind. It was her one chance. Scudding before the mountainous seas the "Roldal" might keep afloat some hours longer, in which time she might be sighted by another ship and her crew given a fighting chance of being rescued.
Without warning came a sharp, whip-like crack. The clew cringle of the sail had burst. With a series of terrific reports, like the bark of a quick-firer, the rotten canvas flogged itself to ribbons. In two minutes hardly a vestige of the staysail was to be seen.