"A sail! A sail!"
The seas had somewhat abated1 and the Rose of Devon was standing2 on her course under reefed mainsail when the cry sounded.
The vessel3 they sighted lay low in the water; and since she had one tall mast forward and what appeared to be a lesser4 mast aft they thought her a ketch. But while they debated the matter the faint sound of guns fired in distress5 came over the sea; and loosing the reef of their mainsail and standing directly toward the stranger, the men in the Rose of Devon soon made her out to be, instead, a ship which had lost her mainmast and mizzenmast and was wallowing like a log. While the Rose of Devon was still far off, her men saw that some of the strange crew were aloft in the rigging and that others were huddled6 on the quarter-deck; and when, in the late afternoon, she came up under the stranger's stern, the unknown master and his men got down on their knees on the deck and stretched their arms above their bare heads.
"Save us," they cried in a doleful voice, "for the Lord Jesus' sake! For our ship hath six-foot water in the hold and we can no longer keep her afloat."
In all the Rose of Devon there was not a heart but relented at their lamentable7 cry, not a man but would do his utmost to lend them aid.
"Hoist8 out thy boat and we will stand by to succour thee," Captain Candle called. "We can do no more, for we ha' lost our own boat in the storm."
It appeared they had but one boat, which was small, so they must needs divide the crew to leave their vessel, part at one time and part at another; and the seas still ran so high, though wind and wave had moderated, that it seemed impossible they could make the passage. With men at both her pumps the Rose of Devon lay by the wind, wallowing and plunging9, and her own plight10 seemed a hard one. But the poor stranger, though ever and again she rose on the seas so that the water drained from her scupper-holes, lay for the most part with her waist a-wash and a greater sea than its fellows would rise high on the stumps11 of mainmast and mizzenmast. Her ropes dragged over the side and her sails were a snarl13 of canvas torn to shreds14, and a very sad sight she presented.
Three times they tried to hoist out their boat and failed; but the fourth time they got clear, and with four men rowing and one steering15 and seven with hats and caps heaving out the water, they came in the twilight16 slowly down the wind past the Rose of Devon and up into her lee.
The men at the waist of the ship saw more clearly, now, the features of those in the boat, and the one in the stern who handled the great steering oar17 had in the eyes of Philip Marsham an oddly familiar look. Phil gazed at the man, then he turned to Martin and knew he was not mistaken, for Martin's mouth was agape and he was on the very point of crying out.
"Holla!" Martin yelled.
The man in the stern of the boat looked up and let his eyes range along the waist of the ship. Not one of all those in sight on board the Rose of Devon escaped his scrutiny18, which was quick and sure; but he looked Martin coldly in the face without so much as a nod of recognition; and though his brief glance met Phil's gaze squarely and seemed for the moment to linger and search the lad's thoughts, it then passed to the one at Phil's side.
It was the thin man who had been Martin's companion on the road—it was Tom Jordan—it was the Old One.
Martin's face flamed, but he held his tongue.
A line thrown to the boat went out through the air in coils that straightened and sagged19 down between the foremost thwarts20. A sailor in the boat, seizing the line, hauled upon it with might and main. The Old One hotly cursed him, and bellowed21, "Fend22 off, fend off, thou slubbering clown! Thy greed to get into the ship will be the means of drowning us all."
Some thrust out oars23 to fend away from the side of the ship and some held back; but two or three, hungering for safety, gave him no heed24 and hauled on the rope and struggled to escape out of their little boat, which was already half full of water. The Old One then rose with a look of the Fiend in his eyes and casting the steering oar at the foremost of them, knocked the man over into the sea, where he sank, leaving a blotch25 of red on the surface, which was a terrible sight and brought the others to observe the Old One's commands.
Some cried "Save him!" but the Old One roared, "Let the mutinous26 dog go!"
Perhaps he was right, for there are times when it takes death to maintain the discipline that will save many lives. At all events it was then too late to save either the man or the boat, for although they strove thereafter to do as the Old One bade them, the boat had already thumped27 against the side of the ship and it was each man for himself and the Devil take the last. The men above threw other ropes and bent28 over to give a hand to the poor fellows below, and all but the man who had sunk came scrambling29 safe on board.
The Old One leaned out and looked down at the boat, which lay full of water, with a great hole in her side.
"I would have given my life sooner than let this happen,"............