“Our best chance is to get hold of a piece of wreck and hold fast to it. You may be washed on shore, or you may be carried out to sea—it is six of one and half a dozen of the other. You may depend upon it, there’s a watery grave for some of us before the night is over.”
Dick felt his heart sink, but he remembered the prayers his mother had taught him. He tried to pray for himself; he knew, too, that she would be praying for him. His courage rose, he determined to struggle bravely for life.
Ben advised that they should go forward and stick to the forecastle. “That generally holds together the longest, and will give us a better chance of life,” he observed. “Don’t let go until the ship breaks up, and then you will have no choice, and must do as I before told you.”
Dick replied that he would follow his advice, and they made their way to the forecastle.
As may be supposed, it was only by speaking at the tops of their voices that they could make each other heard. Their sentences, therefore, were brief and to the point. In the mean time, Lord Reginald, with Voules and Lucas, clung on to the mizzen rigging; near them were gathered the few men who had come aft. Anxiously they looked to leeward, hoping against hope that they might still be at a distance from land. The stout ship was drifted on, the hapless people on board frequently being covered by the seas which broke over her. At last Voules uttered an exclamation of dismay.
“I caught sight of land close under our lee; before ten minutes are over we shall be upon it,” he cried out; “and Heaven have mercy on our souls!”
“We must look out for a spot on which to run her, and if we lose her, we may save our lives,” said Lord Reginald.
But although the attempt was made, the ship would not answer her helm. An anxious gaze was cast at the dark shore, on which the roar of the breakers could be distinctly heard. All they could now do was to cling to the bulwarks until the fatal crash came, and after that, how long the stout ship would hold together it was impossible to say. Much would depend upon the ground on which she was thrown. If on rocks projecting from the shore, she would in all probability be soon dashed to pieces. Even the stoutest seamen held their breath as they waited for the inevitable catastrophe.
Lord Reginald, as he stood on the deck, could feel the ship now as she rose, now as she fell in the trough of the sea, surging on closer and closer to the dreaded coast. Those agonising moments were not to last long. At length came a fearful crash. The mainmast, as if torn up by some invisible hand, fell over the side, the foremast and mizzenmast following in quick succession.
“She’s struck, she’s struck! All’s lost, all’s lost!” cried several of the crew; while many who had hitherto shown ample courage in battle, shrieked out in their agony of fear.