Jacob looked soberly over his shoulder at the distant tiny space of white canvas.
'If there's business to be done with her,' said he, 'we must steer to keep her head right at our starn. What course'll she be taking?'
'She appears to be coming directly at us,' answered Helga.
'Why not lower your sail, heave the lugger to, and fly a distress signal?' said I.
I had scarcely uttered the words when the boat violently jumped a sea; a crash followed, and the next instant the sail, with half of the fished mast, was overboard, with the lugger rapidly swinging, head to sea, to the drag of the wreckage.
I was not a little startled by the sudden cracking of the mast, that was like the report of a gun, and the splash of the sail overboard, and the rapid slewing of the boat.
Helga quietly said in my ear, 'Nothing better could have happened. We are now indeed a wreck for that ship astern to sight, and she is sure to speak to us.'
Abraham flung down his log-book with a sudden roaring out of I know not what 'longshore profanities, and Jacob, letting go the helm, went scrambling forwards over the thwarts, heaping sea-blessings, as he sprawled, upon the eyes and limbs of the boat-builder who had supplied the lugger with spars. The three of us went to work, and Helga helped us as best she could, to get the sail in; but the sea that was now running was large compared to what it had been during the night, and the task was extraordinarily laborious and distressful. Indeed, how long it took us to drag that great lugsail full of water over the rail was to be told by the ship astern, for when I had leisure to look for her I found her risen to her hull, and coming along, as it seemed to me, dead for us, heeling sharply away from the fresh wind, but rolling heavily too on the swell, and pitching with the regularity of a swing in motion.
Helga and I threw ourselves upon a thwart, to take breath. The boatmen stood looking at the approaching vessel.
'She'll not miss seeing us, any way,' said Abraham.