Chapter Twenty Two.
Mr Finlayson and the two young ladies stood watching the progress of the labouring frigate.
“Heaven have mercy on them,” exclaimed the Widow O’Neil, extending her clasped hands towards the ship. “See, see, she draws towards the reef! No hope! no hope! She has struck! she has struck!”
The fishwife spoke but too truly. Fearful seas came rolling in, and, meeting with an opposition not hitherto encountered, dashed in huge masses directly over her. In another instant, the foremast, hitherto standing, tottered and fell. Stout as were her timbers, unable to resist such fierce assaults, they were in a brief space burst asunder, and scattered around in the troubled sea. A cry of horror escaped the young ladies as they witnessed the fearful catastrophe.
“Oh, how many brave men are at this moment carried into a watery grave!” exclaimed Lady Sophy.
Nora was silent. A fearful apprehension seized her.
“The last time we heard from Captain Denham, he told us that he was appointed to a frigate!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Oh, suppose that is the ship he commands?”
“Can no one go to the help of those poor men?” asked Mr Finlayson. “Surely there are boats on the coast which might go off to them!”
The fishwife turned as he spoke.