“Nothing but put the cork belts on ’em, and ask them to pray for us. If the vessel holds until morning we have a chance; if not—God receive our souls.”
Evidently my friend did not believe there was any hope for the best of us, once the yacht broke and hurled us into the clamorous sea; he was a sailor who knew what frightful forces operate to strangle the boldest swimmer when overwhelmed by waves that battle against each other to heave and splash and whirl like the madness of Niagara’s rapids.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A NIGHT OF TERROR.
After all, I had not received much genuine encouragement from Mate Robbins.
I knew his disposition of old, and had seen him make light of many a danger that to me seemed fraught with gloom.
Apparently his nature had undergone somewhat of a change, or else the situation was materially worse than anything in his past.
This latter, which seemed to be the truth, was rather appalling.
Still, I would not despair; I had found a new lease of life in the hope that Hildegarde’s coming had aroused, and I would not give up until the very last gasp.
When Robbins had made another successful passage across the deck, thanks to the rope that had been stretched between cabin and wheelhouse, I thought to go below again.