The mate, with a gleaming axe in his hand, stood ready to obey the order. The shrouds were cut.
“Cut,” cried the captain, and a few strokes sent the tall mast into the sea. The desired effect was not produced. The helm was put up, but the ship refused to obey it. The mate sprang to the mainmast. That, too, must go, or the ship might never rise from her dangerous position; but it was a fearful alternative; for, deprived of her masts, she might be driven at the mercy of the wind and waves, and cast helpless on some rocky shore of that bleak region, towards which, should the gale continue, she might be driven.
“Cut,” again cried the captain. The mainmast fell into the seething water, the seamen hurrying with axes to sever the ropes which kept it still attached to the ship. With a sudden jerk the ship in another instant rose to an even keel; but so violent was the motion that the foremast, deprived of its accustomed support, went by the board, and the “Crusader” lay a helpless wreck on the wild waste of waters.
It is needless to describe the dismay and anxiety of those below, though only partly aware of the dangerous position to which the ship was reduced. Now, answering her helm, she flew before the gale. While the captain was issuing orders to clear the wreck, the carpenter appeared with a face of dismay. He had been sounding the well.
“Three feet of water in the hold, sir,” he said. “It will be a hard job, with all the pumps going, to keep the leaks under.”
Mr Paget heard the announcement. “I will get the emigrants to work them,” he said, “and the cabin passengers will, I feel confident, set the example.”
“Rig the pumps at once, then, Mr Gimlett,” said the captain. “When the gale moderates we will get up jury-masts, and do our best to save the ship. Tell the poor people not to be downhearted, Mr Paget, but to put their trust in Him who has carried us thus far on our voyage in safety.”