The usual prompt “Ay, ay, sir,” was given, but before the men could reach their places a heavy sea struck the vessel amidships, poured several tons of water on the decks, and washed all the loose gear overboard.
“Let her away,” cried the captain quickly.
The steersman obeyed; the ship fell off, and again bounded on her mad course like a wild horse set free.
“It’s of no use, sir,” said the mate, as the captain leaped towards the wheel, which the other had already gained; “no boat could live in that sea for a moment. The poor fellow’s gone by this time. He must be more than half-a-mile astern already.”
“I know it,” returned the captain, in a deep sad voice. “Get these masts down, Mr Millons, and see that everything is made fast. Who is it, did you say?”
“The men can’t tell, sir; one of ’em told me ’e thinks it was young Boswell. It was too dark to see ’is face, but ’is figure was that of a stout young fellow.”
“A stout young fellow,” muttered the captain, as the mate hurried forward. “Can it have been Glynn?” His heart sank within him at the thought, and he would have given worlds at that moment, had he possessed them, to have heard the voice of our hero, whom, almost unwittingly, he had begun to love with all the affection of a father. While he stood gazing up at the rigging, attempting to pierce the thick darkness, he felt his sleeve plucked, and, looking down, observed Ailie at his side.
“My child,” he cried, grasping her by the arm convulsively, “you here! How came you to leave your cabin, dear? Go down, go down; you don’t know the danger you run. Stay—I will help you. If one of those seas comes on board it would carry you overboard like a fleck of foam.”
“I didn’t know there was much danger, papa. Glynn told me there wasn’t,” she replied, as her father sprang with her to the companion-ladder.
“How? when? where, child? Did Glynn speak to you within the last ten minutes?”