Chapter Three.
Bill does good service.
The Foxhound appeared indeed to be in a perilous position. The water washed higher and higher over the deck. “We are going down! we are going down!” again cried Tom, wringing his hands.
“Not if we can help it,” said Jack. “We must get the ports closed, and stop the water from coming in.”
“It’s no use crying out till we are hurt. We can die but once,” said Bill. “Cheer up, Tom; if we do go to the bottom, it’s where many have gone before;” though Bill did not really think that the ship was sinking. Perhaps, had he done so, he would not have been so cool as he now appeared.
“That’s a very poor consolation,” answered Tom to his last remark. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish that I had stayed on shore.”
Though there was some confusion among the landsmen, a few of whom began to look very white, if they did not actually wring their hands and cry out, the crews of the guns remained at their stations, and hauled away lustily at the tackles to run them in. The captain, though on the quarter-deck, was fully aware of the danger. There was no time to shorten sail.
“Port the helm!” he shouted; “hard a-port, square away the yards;” and in a few seconds the ship, put before the wind, rose to an even keel, the water, in a wave, rushing across the deck, some escaping through the opposite ports, though a considerable portion made its way below.