It might have been half an hour later when another sea swept the deck. Jim took shelter under the stump of the mast and held on for dear life. Charlie got inside the coil of the derrick-fall and so was saved, while the others dived into the cabin. When that sea had passed they found no one at the tiller. Poor King had been washed overboard. Nothing whatever could be done for him, even if he had been seen, but the greedy sea had swallowed him, and he was taken to swell with his tuneful voice the company of those who sing on high the praises of redeeming love.
The sea which swept him into eternity also carried away the jury-mast, and as the smack was now a mere wreck, liable to drift on shore if the gale should continue long, Jim let down an anchor, after removing its stock so that it might drag on the bottom and retard the drifting while it kept the vessel’s head to the sea.
A watch was then set, and the rest of the crew went below to wait and wish for daybreak! It was a dreary vigil under appalling circumstances, for although the smack had not actually sprung a leak there was always the danger of another sea overwhelming and altogether sinking her. Her crew sat there for hours utterly helpless and literally facing death. Fortunately their matches had escaped the water, so that they were able to kindle a fire in the stove and obtain a little warmth as well as make a pot of tea and eat some of their sea-soaked biscuit.
It is wonderful how man can accommodate himself to circumstances. No sooner had the crew in this wreck felt the stimulating warmth of the hot tea than they began to spin yarns! not indeed of a fanciful kind—they were too much solemnised for that—but yarns of their experience of gales in former times.
“It minds me o’ this wery night last year,” said Lively Dick, endeavouring to light his damp pipe. “I was mate o’ the Beauty at the time. We was workin’ wi’ the Short Blues on the Dogger, when a tremendous squall struck us, an’ it began to snow that thick we could scarce see the end o’ the jib-boom. Well, the gale came on in real arnest before long, so we had to lay-to all that night. When it came day we got some sail set and I went below to have a hot pot o’ tea when the skipper suddenly sang out ‘Jump up here, Dick!’ an’ I did jump up, double quick, to find that we was a’most runnin’ slap into a dismasted craft. We shoved the tiller hard a-starboard and swung round as if we was on a swivel, goin’ crash through the rackage alongside an’ shavin’ her by a hair. We could just see through the snow one of her hands choppin’ away at the riggin’, and made out that her name was the Henry and Thomas.”
“An’ did ye see nothin’ more of ’er arter that?” asked the boy Charlie with an eager look.
“Nothin’ more. She was never heard of arter that mornin’.”
While the men were thus talking, the watch on deck shouted that one of the mission-ships was close alongside. Every one ran on deck to hail her, for they stood much in need of assistance, two of their water-casks having been stove in and everything in the hold turned topsy-turvy—beef, potatoes, flour, all mixed up in horrible confusion. Just then another sea came on board, and the crew had to dive again to the cabin for safety. That sea carried away the boat and the rest of the starboard bulwarks, besides starting a plank, and letting the water in at a rate which the pumps could not keep down.
Quickly the mission-ship loomed up out of the grey snow-cloud and ran past.
“You’ll want help!” shouted the mission skipper.