They gained a rugged rock of some extent, but the water washed round them and the spray occasionally flew over their heads. They were still at a distance from the mainland, but for the moment safer than on board the ship. They shouted as loud as they could to induce the rest to follow them. Every instant they feared that the mast would give way. Again and again they shouted. At last they caught sight of some one moving along the mast. He reached them, and it proved to be Emery, the black steward.
“Are the rest coming?” asked Peter eagerly.
“Hope so; captain tell us to come first,” was the answer; and soon afterwards Bill the cook made his way to the rock. They all shouted together to give notice of their safe passage. At length several seamen were seen creeping along the mast, one after the other, as fast as they could move.
“The ship is breaking up fast!” said one of them; “and if the skipper don’t make haste he will be lost.”
“Oh, I wish you had all come at once!” cried Peter. “I’ll go back and hasten him.”
“No, no, boy; you will lose your life if you do!” said Hixon. “It’s his own fault if he delays.”
“That is no reason why we should not try to get him to come,” said Peter.
“You are right, boy,” cried Hixon, “but if any one goes, I’ll go.”
Hixon was just getting on the mast, when he exclaimed that the skipper and mate were coming along it. At that moment the end of the mast began to rise. Hixon threw himself off it.
“Stand clear of the rigging,” cried several voices. The mast moved more rapidly, the end lifting up in the air, then with a crash came down on the rock, against which it was at once violently dashed by a sea which broke over the wreck. One of the poor fellows who had escaped was dragged off into the seething waters.