Chapter Two.
Wreck of the “Osprey,” and our Escape.
Boastful as the mate had been, he turned deadly pale as he saw the dangerous position in which the brig was placed. When, however, she lay quiet—the sea not again breaking over her—he recovered himself. The crew meantime, led by Barker, had gone aloft, without his orders, to furl sails, the first thing under the circumstances to be done.
“Get the boats out,” he said at length. His voice had lost its usual authoritative tone. “We must warp the vessel off.”
“No easy matter to do that,” observed the boatswain. “I know what these banks are made of, and it will be a hard job to find holding ground. Which way will you haul her off, sir?”
“The way she came on,” answered the mate. “That was sideways, I have a notion,” observed old Barker. “You will not get her off so.”
I soon saw, by the manner the brig lay over, that Barker was right; but without sounding round her, it was impossible to judge properly what to do. I suggested that this was the first thing to be done. “Give your advice when it is asked, Mr Crawford,” said Kydd, walking up and down the deck. “Be smart there with the boats!”
While he was speaking, another wave came rolling in and struck the vessel with greater force than the former one, breaking over the fore part of the deck.
“We must get the boats over to the starboard side,” said Barker (the vessel’s head was to the north). “They will be stove in if we attempt to lower them on the outer side.”
“What are you afraid of, man?” exclaimed Kydd. “Why, the sea is as smooth as a mill-pond between these rollers. Am I to be obeyed, or am I not? Here, lower this boat first. We will have her round on the other side before the next roller comes in.”