“Ay, ay!” cried the sailors. A loud clamor arose in the midst of the horrible roaring of the winds. The sailor on watch had fallen into the sea.
“Throw out the buoy! throw out the buoy!” cried the captain. “Knaves, do you hear me?”
Impossible; the rope fluttered in the wind like a string, and the tempest drove it against the sides of the vessel. They saw the unfortunate
sailor tossing in the sea, carried along like a black point on the waves, which in a moment disappeared.
“All is over! He is lost!” cried the sailors. But the howling winds stifled and drowned their lamentations.
In the meantime Pierre Gilles bound himself tightly as he could to a mast; for the shaking of the vessel was so great that it seemed to him an irresistible power was trying to tear him away and cast him whirling into the yawning depths of the furious element.
“The mizzen-mast is breaking!” cried the sailors; and by a common impulse they rushed toward the stern to avoid being dragged down and crushed by its fall.
The gigantic beam fell with a fearful crash, catching in the ropes and rigging.
“Cut away! Let her go!” cried the captain.
He himself was the first to rush forward, armed with a hatchet, and they tried to cut aloose the mast and let it fall into the water.