‘Will she not stop?’ exclaimed Miss Temple, in a voice of terror.
Lifting the handspike with its fluttering blanket high above my head, I waved it furiously for some moments, then flinging it down upon the deck, applied my hands to the sides of my mouth, and, in a voice of such energy that it came near to cracking every vein in my head, I yelled: ‘Barque ahoy! For God’s sake, send a boat and take us off.’
As the words left my throat, the vessel’s helm was put down; the clew of the mainsail mounted, and her topsail yard slowly revolved, bringing every cloth upon the main aback, and in a few minutes the graceful little craft was lying without way within speaking distance of us.
In the violence of my transport, I grasped Miss Temple’s hand and again and again pressed my lips to it, congratulating her and myself so, for I had no words. The figures of the people were clearly visible: a row of heads forward, the fellow at the wheel on a short raised deck, and two men dressed in white clothes with large straw hats at the mizzen rigging. One of them leisurely clambered on to the rail, and, holding by one hand to a backstay, sang out:
‘Wreck ahoy! How many are there of you?’
‘Two of us only,’ I shouted back; ‘this lady and myself.’
‘Any contagious sickness?’
‘No, no,’ I bawled, amazed by the question. ‘Pray, send a boat.’
He continued to stand, as though viewing us meditatively; then, ‘Wreck ahoy!’
‘Hallo!’ I cried, scarcely able to send my voice owing to the consternation excited in me by the man’s behaviour.