“Now all hope is over; pray to your gods, men,” said the mate, whose courage was not quite equal to his position.
“There are no gods!” growled the captain bitterly, for he saw that he was now a ruined man, even though he should escape with life.
“There is one God,” said Bladud quietly, “and He does all things well.”
As he spoke, the captain, whose eyes had not ceased to look searchingly along the coast, observed something like a bay a short way to the left of the place where they lay.
“It looks like a sandy bay,” he said.
“It is a sandy bay,” exclaimed the anxious mate; “let us up anchors and run into it.”
“Have an easy mind and keep your advice till asked for,” returned the captain with a look of scorn. “If we are destined to escape, we shall escape without making haste. If we are doomed to die, nothing can save us, and it is more manly to die in a leisurely way than in a hurry. When we can see clearly we shall know better how to act.”
Although this manner of submitting to the inevitable did not quite suit the mate, he felt constrained to repress his impatience, while the coolness of the captain had a quieting effect on some of the men who were inclined to give way to panic. The sight of Bladud—as he sat there leaning on the hilt of his sword with an expression of what appeared to be serene contentment—had also a quieting effect on the men.
When the increasing light showed that the sandy bay was a spot that might possibly be reached in safety, orders were given to cut the cables, loose the rudder-bands and hoist the sail. For a few minutes the vessel ran swiftly towards the bay, but before reaching the shore she struck with violence. The fore part of the Penelope stuck fast immovably, and then, at last, the ravenous waves attained their longed-for meal. They burst over the stern, swept the decks, tore up the fastenings, revelled among the tackling and began tumultuously to break up the ship.
“Launch the skiff,” shouted the captain, hastening to lend a hand in the operation.