Wave crests
broke and lashed aboard, the reeling boat was soon awash, and the spare
men had to bale frantically to keep her afloat. But terror of the ship
running south from us nerved our wearied arms, and we kept doggedly
swinging the oars. Soon we made out the vessel's sidelight--the gleam
of her starboard light, that showed that she was hauled to the wind,
not running south as we had feared. They could not see on such a
night, we had nothing to make a signal, but the faint green flame gave
us heart in our distress.
The old man, himself again, was now steering, giving us Big Jones to
bear at the oars. As we drew on we made out the loom of the vessel's
sails--a big ship under topsails only, and sailing slowly to the west.
We pulled down wind to cross her course, shouting together as we rowed.
Would they never hear? . . . Again! . . . Again!
Suddenly there came a hail from the ship, a roar of orders, rattle of
blocks and gear, the yards swung round and she layed up in the wind,
while the ghostly glare of a blue light lit up the sea around.
A crowd of men were gathered at the waist, now shouting and cheering as
we laboured painfully into the circle of vivid light.
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