"What do you see, captain? What is it?"
"I don't know what to tell you. I am not sure yet. Still there is something strange——"
"Why, that ship——It is moving sideways!" she cried. "It is not sailing!"
Lavelle, indeed, was puzzled. The strange sail was an iron or steel bark of perhaps twelve hundred tons, hove to on the port tack. Her forecourse and foretopsails were set. The foretopgallantsail hung in its clewlines and buntlines. The maintopgallantsail and topsails were set and laid full aback against the mast. The main course was clewed up. The peak of the spanker had been let go and the gaff was flailing from side to side. She carried two skysails. These and the royals were furled. All of the headsails, with the exception of the foretopmast-staysail, were down and trailing away from the bowsprit and jibboom. None of the other staysails was set. She was laden and laboring hard. It seemed that the swell must roll the sticks out of her.
From the height at which they stood Lavelle and Emily could see her lie down with every heave of the sea and put her lee rail under.
Now, for a second, rolling deeper than she had before, Lavelle, from a new angle, confirmed what he had suspected from the beginning. Her wheel was deserted! Her decks were lifeless! She was in charge of herself!
The bark was rapidly drifting closer. Another fifteen minutes, Lavelle figured, would carry her by the island half a mile to the southward. It was a moment for quick decision. Emily read his purpose to swim to the bark.
"God alone knows, Emily, what mystery confronts us. But our only chance of life lies out there. It may be another trap, comrade, but we must hope. I feel that, for your sake, I must——"
"For our sakes," she interrupted him, but he did not seem to hear her. He was bending over, removing his shoes.
"I'll win back to you—I'll come for you if it be in——"