The ship, stunned by the force of the gigantic billow, listed till her deck took an angle of 45 degrees, or more. To the young apprentice, held only by a single turn of the thin signal-halliard, it seemed as if the ship were already taking her downward plunge, for all round him surged the torrent of solid water, his position rendered doubly horrible by the intense blackness of the night.
Still he held on like grim death to the disabled seaman, the thin rope cutting into his breastbone like a steel wire. His feet were unable to find a hold; the last fragment of the bulwarks had vanished, and only the rope held him and his burden from a prolonged death in the surging ocean.
Quivering like an aspen leaf, the stricken vessel slowly resumed an even keel, and then began the correspondingly sickening list to windward.
Another flash revealed the charging derrick whirling over his head; then, as he felt the rope slacken and himself slipping across the deck, his hand managed to grasp the foot of the poop-ladder.
Almost breathless by his exertions, and half suffocated through being so long under water, Ellerton retained sufficient presence of mind to clamber up the ladder, Andy assisting his burden by steadily and strongly hauling on the rope; then, as the San Martin once more began her sickening roll to leeward, he sank exhausted to the deck, safe under the lee of the deck-house, with the Peruvian still in his grip.
That last tremendous breaker had been the means of saving the ship, though at the time it had threatened to end her career. The dangerous deck-load of mahogany baulks had been wrenched from its securing lashings, and had been swept overboard; while the disabled derrick, coming into contact with the donkey-engine, had snapped off short.
At the same time the waves had swept four more of the crew to their last account, and the remainder, exhausted and disheartened by their misfortunes, had gained the shelter of the fo'c'sle.
Securing themselves by the rope, Andy and Ellerton—the latter having passed a bight round the now conscious and groaning seaman—hung on with desperation.
From their comparatively sheltered position they could gain occasional glimpses of the bridge, where Captain Perez, the first mate, and a couple of seamen stood braving the elements, their sou'-westers just visible above the top of the canvas storm-dodgers.
At one moment, silhouetted against the glare of the lightning, their heads could be seen against a background of wind-torn clouds; at another the vessel would be so deep in the trough of the waves that the crests ahead appeared to rise high above the rigid figures on their lofty, swaying perch.