There were not many fathoms to spare. The fury of the blast, however, had somewhat decreased, and the vessel appeared to be stationary. Needham hurried aloft, and while the midshipmen hauled on the heel-rope of the topmast—the shrouds and stays being slacked—he tugged away at the fid. He had just got it out, when a second blast as furious as the first burst on them—a loud report was heard. Ned slid down like lightning from aloft, and sprang aft to the helm. Tom, who had run forward, exclaimed—
“The cable has parted!”
“I know it,” answered Ned. “Hoist a foot of the foresail, Mr Rogers.”
The drogher spun round like a top, and off she flew before the hurricane.
“Hadn’t we better jump into the boat, and let the vessel go?” asked Archy.
“We could never pull to shore in the teeth of this wind, sir,” answered Needham. “We can’t get her on board, or tow her either—we must let her go.”
Meantime, Tom and Gerald had been busy in stowing the fore-sail and securing the topmast shrouds and stays. As they looked aft for an instant, they could just distinguish some figures on the shore; but amid the wild tumult, no voices could be heard had they shouted ever so loudly. Needham now called Tom and Gerald to take the helm while he tried to find a storm staysail, hoping with a couple of feet of it set to be able to scud before the hurricane.
“It’s our only chance,” he said, “we’ve no hope of beating back till it’s over—and the wider berth we give the island the better; for if the wind shifts we may be blown right on it, and lose the craft and our own lives too.”
The prospect was an appalling one—but the midshipmen did not lose heart. Away flew the drogher amid the roaring seas into the pitchy darkness, which now settled down over the ocean.