“If we get a slant of wind we may do it yet,” said the captain.
“But if not?” observed the first mate.
“We must let go our anchors, and cut away the masts. There is nothing else to be done,” was the answer.
The hoped-for change of wind did not come.
“Let go the best bower,” shouted the captain. “Stand by with the axes.”
The order was obeyed. The ship for a moment rode head to wind. At the same instant the men, with gleaming axes in their hands, were seen cutting away at the masts.
Tom led his young friends under shelter of the poop deck.
Down came the masts with a crash. Not a hundred fathoms astern the sea in wild masses was breaking furiously. The next instant the anchor parted; another was let go, but it scarcely held for a moment; and then the ship drove broadside into the midst of the wild, raging tumult of waters. Now she rose for a moment on the summit of a huge wave, now borne onwards she sank into a hollow between the waves. The next sea swept her decks, carrying many of the hapless crew overboard, and washing away the caboose and a large portion of the bulwarks.
By Tom’s advice Harry and Bass clung to a stanchion near which they had taken their post. Tom held on to another near them.
Another sea struck the devoted ship, and threw her with tremendous force on the coral rocks, crushing in her bottom and sides. Others of the crew were carried off as the seas continued to strike her. Now portions of her bows, now the remainder of her bulwarks, were swept away, while on each occasion the fearful crashing and rending of timbers showed that she was rapidly breaking up.