As the previous wave—that of 5.30—had given the brig a tremendous heave upwards, the captain, on hearing the second, ran down below for a moment to tell Kathleen there would soon be another wave, but that she need fear no danger.
"The brig is deep and has a good hold o' the water," he said, "so the wave is sure to slip under her without damage. I wish I could hope it would do as little damage when it reaches the shore."
As he spoke a strange and violent crash was heard overhead, quite different from volcanic explosions, like the falling of some heavy body on the deck.
"One o' the yards down!" muttered the captain as he ran to the cabin door. "Hallo, what's that, Mr. Moor?"
"Canoe just come aboard, sir."
"A canoe?"
"Yes, sir. Crew, three men and a monkey. All insensible—hallo!"
The "hallo!" with which the second mate finished his remark was so unlike his wonted tone, and so full of genuine surprise, that the captain ran forward with unusual haste, and found a canoe smashed to pieces against the foremast, and the mate held a lantern close to the face of one of the men while the crew were examining the others.
A single glance told the captain that the mud-bespattered figure that lay before him as if dead was none other than his own son! The great wave had caught the frail craft on its crest, and, sweeping it along with lightning speed for a short distance, had hurled it on the deck of the Sunshine with such violence as to completely stun the whole crew. Even Spinkie lay in a melancholy little heap in the lee scuppers.
You think this a far-fetched coincidence, good reader! Well, all we can say is that we could tell you of another—a double—coincidence, which was far more extraordinary than this one, but as it has nothing to do with our tale we refrain from inflicting it on you.