"Keep her off all she'll go," I roared to the wheel.
And just as I felt her swing her stern to the following sea, I saw close to us the green light of a steamer, and above it her masthead light. Then the thing happened.
A wild cry from forward, followed by the loom of a gigantic object in the gloom ahead. We were upon the vessel in a moment.
A tremendous crash, grinding, tearing, splintering. The brig staggered, seemed to stop suddenly, and then the deep, roaring note of the gale smothered the rest.
We struck, fairly head on, swung to, glanced along the ship's side, and were lying dismasted in the trough of the sea, our foremast over the side, and nothing but the lower main mast standing. The seas tore over us, and we lay like a log, while the shadow of the steamer passed slowly astern.
The old man was on deck before I knew just what had happened. So also was Slade. The smashing and grinding of the wreckage alongside told of the spars; but we were too stunned to think of them.
Was the hull split open with that furious impact? That was the thought in our minds. Ours was a wooden vessel—little, light, and very strong. Did we ram our plank ends in? If so, we were lost men, all of us.
It was fully a half minute before we spoke of it. We knew just what to do, but we were stunned for a few moments. Then we made for the main deck, and tried the pumps. The water was coming in lively.
"All hands on the pumps!" came the skipper's order; and we manned the brakes with the feeling that it was just a respite, just a little time to lose. The men took to them with a will, however; but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I worked half-heartedly for a few minutes, until I brought myself around with a jerk. I was mate. I had the responsibility. And more than that—it had happened in my watch on deck. I was the one who must do the most.
"Come along, bullies—get a couple of axes!" I roared, and made my way to the weather fore channels, where the rigging of the topmast and lower mast held the wreckage alongside, being drawn taut, as it were, across the deck, the spars to leeward, and banging and pounding against the ship with each surge. "Get into those lanyards!" and they chopped away in the gray light of the morning, cutting everything they could, and clearing the weather rigging of the strain.