The fore-mast stood like a black and lightning-shattered tree; the jib-boom hung in two pieces from the bowsprit; where the main-mast had stood were some huge jagged splinters; and aft towered the mizzen-mast, with the cross-jack swinging to the roll of the ship, the spanker with its peak halliards gone, and the whole picture of it completing the unutterable air of desolation presented by the storm-shattered vessel.
At eight bells the carpenter reported no increase of the water in the hold, which cheering intimation the captain delivered to the men from the break of the poop, who received it with a faint cheer.
The pumps had been relieved three times, and now the port watch was at them, making the water bubble on to the deck, where it was washed to and fro, and poured in streams through the scupper-holes.
At one o’clock, Holdsworth, who had been on deck since a quarter to seven, went below to put on dry clothes; and as he was leaving his cabin to return on deck he met Mrs. Tennent. Her face was very pale in the light of the swinging lamp, and she stood at her cabin door, by the handle of which she supported herself.
“Are we not in great danger, Mr. Holdsworth?” she whispered, in a tone of deep excitement.
“The worst is passed, I hope,” answered Holdsworth cheerfully.
“Do not be afraid of telling me the truth. I can be brave for my child’s sake. If real danger should come, Mr. Holdsworth, will you remember him? Will you be near him in that moment?”
“We won’t talk of danger yet, Mrs. Tennent. We have had an ugly bout of it, but the daylight is coming, and then we shall be more comfortable.”
“Many times,” she exclaimed, “I thought we were sinking! O God! what a horrible night this has been! I heard the water rushing past the cabin door, and I tried to reach the deck, but was too faint to carry my child, and I could not leave him.”