Almost literally inch by inch they fought their way seaward. Much as they valued the smooth which the kelp brought them, its hindering environment was terribly wearisome to the humanly limited strength. But doggedly they toiled on, often only half consciously, as squalls of sleet slashed savagely across their cowering faces and every fresh blast of wind beat at them as if it were the spirit of some malicious demon determined upon their destruction. Suddenly they emerged from the slimy smoothness of the kelp into the free dash of the great waves. And as they did so Mr. Peck, with a great voice, shouted, ‘Now, boys, for y’r lives; out oars an’ pull jest a leetle bit; perhaps we can histe a rag of sail and keep her away a bit presently. That’s it--lift her, lift her; oh, too good, boys, too good, one, two, three; better ’n’ better. I see the ship! She ain’t no distance off. Stick t’ it, me hearties, give ’r all you got--thet’s y’r style.’ In such wise did the fine fellow encourage his men, who were taking the last ounce out of themselves in their desperate fight with the forces of nature. And the passengers cowering in the bottom of the boat heard and saw not, endured dimly, dumbly; until just as it seemed impossible that the overborne sailors could hold out any longer came the glorious cry of ‘Boat ahoy!’ A yell of thankful reply, and the great bulk of the ship materialised out of the darkness. A minute or two of breathless suspense as the boat swung off the wind, and then a blessed sense of security and calm as she surged up under the lee of the grand old tub, where all hands, by the light of the flaring try-works, were awaiting them. Life from the dead, fellow creatures welcomed back from out the gaping jaws of the grave--how glorious a sensation to true men! And when the whisper ran round that some of the saved ones were women there were chokings and dim eyes among these rough-looking but tender-hearted fellows, although comments were mostly limited to the commonplace expression, ‘Poor things, poor things.’
Safely on board, and the boat hoisted into her place, Captain Hampden whispered an order to his mate to keep all the southing he could so as to get well clear of that awful pile of rock, still much too near for comfort. Then with a courtly old-world grace he led the way to his cabin, and begged his strangely shipped passengers to make themselves at home. The three quaint little figures revealed themselves as ladies--young, but haggard with anxiety and privation. Alone in the world, too. For the story of the lost ship from which they had escaped was just this, so bald and simple, yet so full of pathos to the imaginative mind. She was a huge four-master, with splendid passenger accommodation, bound for Australia, and specially recommended as affording a grand opportunity for a perfect sea trip for consumptives. So thirty poor wrecks of humanity, but possessing money enough to buy a chance of life, availed themselves of the opportunity, for, after all, the fare was much lower than in a fast steamer, and the attendance likely to be much better. But the crew! What agony the Captain endured as he found that sailing-ships were in such bad odour that men could not be obtained--that if he would get to sea at all he must needs ship men who hardly knew a cringle from a scupper-hole. However, this is one of the penalties a man must pay to-day when working his way up in a sailing-ship prior to taking charge in steam. And Captain Weston paid it. Running the easting down, he found his handful of wastrels not merely incompetent, but afraid--a poor group of fellows whom no threats or bribes could make do their duty, while he had upon his heart the helpless passengers. So he ran her, recklessly as it appeared, really because he could do nothing else, and strained his heartstrings nightly as he looked up through the blackness at those great sails, and wondered what _would_ happen should they blow away, for to take them in he knew was impossible.