Already the bows were low in the water. "She goes. She
goes!" yelled some one. "Oh, Christ! She's going!"
We bore frantically on the tackles that linked the gig, swung her out,
and lowered by the run; the mate had the pinnace in the water, men were
swarming into her. As the gig struck water, the barque heeled to the
rail awash. We crowded in, old Burke the last to leave her, and pushed
off. Our once stately _Hilda_ reeled in a swirl of broken water, and
the deep sea took her!
Sailor work! No more than ten minutes between "Ye Mariners" and the
foundering of our barque!
We lay awhile with hearts too full for words; then the pinnace drew
near, and the mate called the men. All there but one!
"Gregson!" . . . No Gregson! The bosun knew. He had seen what was
Gregson lying still under the wreck of the topmost spars.
The captain and mate conferred long together. We had no sail in the
gig, but the larger boat was fully equipped. "It's the only chance,
mister," said Burke at last. "No food--no water! We can't hold out
for long. Get sail on your boat and stand an hour or two to the
east'ard. Ye may fall in with a ship; she w'was right in th' track
whin she s-struck.
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