“And that shines just where that light was that led us here,” retorted a sailor.
The vessel heeled to one side, and shipped water fore and aft, over either rail, with a hiss and heave. She plunged, staggered, and sank deeper into the sand.
A boat had been lowered and three men were in it, and called to the women to be sharp and join them. But this was no easy matter, for the boat at one moment leaped up on the comb of a black wave, and then sank in its yawning trough, now was close to the side of the ship, and then separated from it by a rift of water. The frightened women were let down by ropes, but in their bewilderment missed their opportunity when the boat was under them, and some fell into the water, and had to be dragged out, others refused to leave the wreck and risk a leap into the little boat. Nothing would induce the sick nun to venture overboard. She could not understand English; the young passenger addressed her in Portuguese, and finally, losing all patience and finding that precious time was wasted in arguing with a poor creature incapable of reasoning in her present condition, he ordered a sailor to help him, caught her up in his arms, and proceeded to swing himself over, that he might carry her into the boat.
But at that moment dark figures occupied the deck, and a man arrested him with his hand, while in a loud and authoritative voice he called, “No one leaves the vessel without my orders. Number Five, down into the boat and secure that. Number Seven, go with him. Now, one by one, and before each leaves, give over your purses and valuables that you are trying to save. No harm shall be done you, only make no resistance.”
The ship was in the hands of the wreckers.
The men in the boat would have cast off at once, but the two men sent into it, Numbers Five and Seven, prevented them. The presence of the wreckers produced order where there had been confusion before. The man who had laid his hand on the Portuguese nun, and had given orders, was obeyed not only by his own men, but by the crew of the merchant vessel, and by the passengers, from whom all thoughts of resistance, if they ever rose, vanished at once. All alike, cowed and docile, obeyed without a murmur, and began to produce from their pockets whatever they had secured and hoped to carry ashore with them.
“Nudding! me nudding!” gasped the nun.
“Let her pass down,” ordered the man who acted as captain. “Now the next—you!” he turned on the young passenger who had assisted the nun.
“You scoundrel,” shouted the young man, “you shall not have a penny of mine.”
“We shall see,” answered the wrecker, and levelled a pistol at his head. “What answer do you make to this?”