We sprang into the shrouds, and climbed up, up, up into the pitchy darkness. Scarcely were we off the deck than a huge sea came rolling up, sweeping everything before it. The Lascars had done as we had set them the example, and numbers of dark forms were seen swarming up the rigging into the fore-top. Another and another sea followed. No longer could we distinguish the deck below us, so completely overwhelmed was it by the raging waters. Higher and higher they rose. The masts swayed about as if on the point of falling. Fearful, indeed, was the scene. The boatswain, getting into the top, helped me up, and I found myself seated with Oliver by my side. We could just distinguish the foremast through the gloom, the sea rising almost to cover the top to which the Lascars were clinging, curling over them as if to drag them from their perches.
Perilous as was our position, a cry escaped our men as we saw the foremast begin to totter. Another sea came and over it went, carrying the shrieking wretches clinging to it away in its embrace. Though good swimmers, in vain they attempted to reach the mainmast. The next sea swept them away to leeward. Their fate might be ours, however, any moment. We all knew that very well. With what desperate energy did we cling to that lone mast in the midst of the raging ocean. As we looked round our eyes could not pierce the thick gloom, nor ascertain whether any land was near. Oliver Farwell was clinging on next to me. The other men had secured themselves round the mast, others to the top. No one spoke; indeed it seemed to all of us that our last moments had arrived. Every instant we expected to be hurled off from our unstable resting-place, as the seas dashed with redoubled fury against the wreck. We could hear the vessel breaking up below us, and we all well knew that in a short time the mast itself must go for want of support.
Scarcely had one roaring wave passed under us than another followed. Above our heads was a dark, murky sky, below and around the foaming sea. Even the best manned life-boat could scarcely have lived amid that foaming mass of water.
“It is very terrible!” I could not help exclaiming.
“Trust in God,” said a voice near me.
Oliver Farwell spoke.
“I do, Oliver, I do,” I answered.
“Right, Mr Walter,” he said. “If he thinks fit he can find a way for us to escape.”
“Hold on, lads, even though the mast gives way!” shouted the boatswain. “The mast will float us, and maybe carry us to some pleasant shore. Daylight will come in time, and show us whereabouts we are. Never fear, lads.”
“Ay, ay,” answered several voices. “We will cling to the mast as long as our fingers can gripe hold of it.”