“It is,” replied the captain, “as near as I can guess; but we’ve been blown about so much that I can’t tell exactly. Moreover, it’s my opinion we can’t be far off the coast now; and if this gale holds on I’ll have to bring to, at the risk of bein’ capsized. Them plaguey coral-reefs, too, are always springin’ up in these seas where you least expect ’em. If we go bump against one as we are goin’ now, its all up with us.”
“Not a pleasant idea,” remarked Ned, somewhat gravely. “Do these storms usually last long?”
Before the captain could reply, the first mate came up and whispered in his ear.
“Eh! how much d’ye say?” he asked quickly.
“Five feet, sir; she surged heavily once or twice on the foremast, and I think must have started a plank.”
“Call all hands to work the pumps; and don’t let the men know how much water there is in the hold. Come below, Ned. I want you. Keep her head steady as she goes.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” sang out O’Neil, as the captain descended the companion-hatch to the cabin, followed by his young friend.
The dim light in the swinging lamp flickered fitfully when the ship plunged into the troughs of the seas, and rose again with a violent surge, as each wave passed under her, while every plank and spar on board seemed to groan under the strain. Darkness now added to the terrors of the wild storm.
Sitting down on a locker, Captain Bunting placed his elbows on the table, and covering his face with his hands, remained silent for several minutes, while Ned sat down beside him, but forbore to interrupt his thoughts.
“Boy,” he said, at length, looking up anxiously, “we’ve sprung a leak, and a few minutes will shew what our fate is to be. Five feet of water in the hold in so short a time implies a bad one.”