It was only a small bay across which we were passing. Not a quarter of an hour afterwards another point appeared. As we had succeeded in weathering the first, the mate evidently expected to pass this in the same way.
Mr Hallton, convinced that we could not do so, shouted out, “Down with the helm—shorten sail—let go the anchor—let fly everything.”
“Who dares give orders on board this ship?” cried the mate.
The crew, however, were convinced that the first order was the wisest. The tacks, sheets, and halyards were let go, the stoppers of the cable cut, the helm put down to bring her up to the wind. She pitched into the seas, but the anchor held. The crew now flew aloft to try and gather in the canvas, fluttering wildly in the gale.
“In three minutes more we should have been knocking to pieces on the rocks,” observed Mr Hallton. “It is a question whether the anchor will hold now; if it doesn’t, we sha’n’t be much better off.”
Scarcely had he spoken when a loud report was heard. “The cable has parted!” shouted several voices.
“Let go the last hope.”
The anchor so called was let go, and although it brought the ship up in a couple of minutes, it also parted, and the helpless ship now drifted rapidly towards the breakers, which could be seen curling up along the shores of the bay into which we had driven.
“Come aft,” said Charley to Harry and me. “The moment the ship strikes the masts will go, and we shall chance to be crushed as they fall.”
“The time has come to set Captain Trunnion at liberty,” I said.