The Distant Shore made a quick voyage towards Australia, and her captain felt sure of beating the[56] sailing record by two or three days. Captain Manton had taken a great liking¹ to Edgar Foster, who spent many a pleasant hour in his cabin with him. On this voyage Captain Manton was accompanied by his wife and child, a bright little girl about three years of age. The child was very fond of Edgar, and he played with the little one on deck for hours at a stretch.  
‘I never remember a more favourable² voyage,’ said the captain to Edgar one morning; ‘we ought to be in Sydney harbour in the course of two or three days. Looks as though we are going to finish with a squall,’ he added, pointing to the restless clouds overhead.
 
‘I am quite anxious to weather a storm before we get to our journey’s end,’ said Edgar, smiling, ‘or I shall fancy I have not been to sea.’
 
‘Your wish is likely to be gratified,’ he said; ‘but the Distant Shore is a good ship, and it will be an uncommon³ bad storm she cannot sail through safely.’
 
‘With a good ship and a clever captain we have not much to fear,’ said Edgar. ‘Here’s little Eva coming for her morning romp⁴. I should have been quite lonely on board without her.’
 
Edgar held out his arms, and the child ran into them. He lifted her above his head, where she laughed with delight, and looked at her father with merry eyes.
 
‘Pass her on to me,’ said Captain Manton; and Edgar tossed her into her father’s arms.
 
‘Back again,’ she cried, and she was tossed to Edgar again.
 
The captain watched them for a few moments as they played on the deck, and then cast an anxious look at the sky. He knew they were in for a storm, probably a bad one.
 
During the night Edgar heard the vessel⁵ creak and groan⁶, and her timbers strain in a most unusual manner. The sailors were hard at work on deck, and he knew the storm must have burst upon them. He turned over in his berth⁷, and felt thankful the Distant Shore was such a safe vessel, and her captain a trustworthy seaman⁸.
 
Edgar had some difficulty in reaching the deck next morning. Not a single passenger was in the saloon as he staggered through, holding on first to one thing, and then another.
 
‘You had better keep below, sir,’ said one of the stewards¹⁰; ‘you’ll stand a good chance of being blown overboard if you venture on deck. We are finishing up with a real bad storm.’
 
‘That’s just what I want to see,’ said Edgar.
 
‘You can’t get out that way,’ said the man; ‘the hatches are down. Come this way, and I will show you how to get on deck.’
 
Edgar followed the man to the fore-part of the ship, and was well knocked about during the journey.
 
‘Go up there, and you’ll be able to see what it’s like before you go on deck,’ said the steward⁹.
 
‘Just as well to look before I leap, I suppose,’ said Edgar.
 
‘I don’t think you’ll want to leap on deck when you have had a look out,’ was the reply.
 
Edgar climbed up the steep steps, holding on with all his might. When he reached the top he saw there was a thick glass with bars across it. He could see well enough through the glass, and the sight almost took away his breath.
 
A huge wave towered high above the ship, and Edgar thought if it came over the deck the vessel must surely go down. The Distant Shore gave a mad plunge¹¹, and he nearly lost his foothold. The ship seemed to dive down into the depths of the sea, and then, coming up again, shook herself all over. On second thoughts Edgar decided¹² to remain where he was, or rather down below in the saloon. Captain Manton entered a few minutes after Edgar succeeded in finding his way back.
 
‘Well, my lad, you’ve got a storm at last,’ said the captain; ‘I hope you are satisfied. My wife and Eva are in their cabin, and I don’t think they are quite so pleased as you are about the weather. It will get worse before it mends.’
 
‘Worse?’ said Edgar. ‘Why, it’s blowing a regular hurricane, and the sea is running as high as the ship.’
 
‘How did you find that out?’ said Captain Manton. ‘I gave orders no one was to be allowed on deck.’
 
Edgar explained, and the captain was satisfied.
 
‘So you did not like the look of things?’ he asked.
 
‘No,’ said Edgar. ‘I think I am safer here, although I confess I feel a little queer.’
 
Captain Manton smiled as he replied:
 
‘Sea-sickness will soon cure you of a longing¹³ for storms. I’d advise you to turn in before you have to be carried to your berth.’
 
‘Oh, it’s not so bad as that,’ said Edgar. ‘It will pass off.’
 
‘No doubt,’ said the captain with a meaning smile.
 
All that day the storm raged, and the Distant Shore battled with it. As night came on, Captain Manton became anxious. He knew they were nearing the coast of New South Wales, and the wind was driving them straight in that direction. He tried in vain to alter the ship’s course, but he could not keep out to sea; some uncontrollable current appeared to drive the vessel along. As the night wore on there were no signs of the storm abating¹⁴; in fact, the gale¹⁵ was worse than ever.
 
A terrible crash made everyone on board quake. A huge sea dashed over the ship, sweeping¹⁶ her deck well-nigh clear. The boats were smashed to atoms; two sailors were washed overboard, and Captain Manton was dashed against his cabin and almost stunned¹⁷. Before the Distant Shore could right herself another merciless sea swept over her, and at the same moment the rudder chain snapped, and the vessel swung helplessly round.
 
Captain Manton at once realized the danger they were in. By the fitful light of the moon he saw the terrible havoc¹⁸ the waves had made on deck. Then he saw something that made his heart quail¹⁹; it was the flashing of the light from South Head lighthouse. Well might a brave man tremble at the thought of being dashed to pieces on those great rocks. His ship was no longer under control, and he could do nothing to save her from being driven to destruction. Had the steering²⁰ gear held firm he might have tried to dash through the Heads into the harbour. That would have been a mere²¹ chance; but even this, small as it was, had gone. Despair seized upon him, and held him in chains; but he burst the bonds at the thought of the lives of those on board. They were still some distance from the Heads; the light flashed out many miles to sea. He must prepare them as quietly as possible to await their fate.
 
Leaving the mate in charge of the vessel, he went below. He made for Edgar’s cabin and entered without knocking.
 
Edgar was wide awake and dressed, and he knew there must be something wrong when he saw the captain.
 
‘What is it?’ said Edgar. ‘Any danger?’ and he tumbled out of his berth.
 
‘You are a brave lad,’ said Captain Manton, ‘and I have come to you first. There is no time to lose. We are in deadly peril²². I have no control over the ship, and we are being blown straight for the rocks.’
 
‘What can I do?’ said Edgar.
 
He was pale, but perfectly²³ calm.
 
‘Very little,’ said Captain Manton; ‘but you can set a good example. A panic will only make matters worse. If the passengers are kept under control, it may be possible to save some of them. Will you call them up in the saloon cabin? Tell them to dress, and try and calm them. I will tell my wife and take her and Eva up with me. You will find them in my cabin. If it comes to the worst, do what you can for them. I must stick to the ship. I’ll save her if I can, but I see no chance at present. Good-bye!’
 
He held out his hand and Edgar gripped it hard. They looked firmly into each other’s eyes. They were not afraid of facing death. Edgar seemed to have grown older, and Captain Manton saw the look of determination on his face and thought to himself:
 
‘This lad will not fail me. He will give his life to save those I love.’
 
‘Good-bye,’ said Edgar, and without another word he went to rouse his fellow-passengers.
 
So well did he accomplish his difficult task that, although the peril they were in was understood, there was no panic. Happily there were very few women and children on board, and the men behaved well.
 
It was an awful sight, Edgar thought: the saloon filled with people hastening to their death, awaiting the summons from the captain, ‘All hands on deck,’ which meant they were to sell their lives as dearly as possible. The very suddenness of the danger appeared to have taken all sense of fear away. Not a word was spoken; the sobbing²⁵ of children, and the half-smothered²⁶, heart-rending²⁷ groan of some poor mother, could alone be heard.
 
A great rush of wind, followed by a loud shout, aroused them:
 
‘All hands on deck!’
 
Edgar led the way, and then stood by while the women and children were helped up the stairs. The men followed. Edgar was the last to leave the saloon. Once on deck he saw what their danger was, and from whence it came. The lighthouse stood high up on the rocks, flashing across the sea, and they were so near now that the rays lighted up the faces of those in deadly peril on the doomed²⁸ ship. Edgar forced his way towards the captain’s cabin, and found Mrs. Manton and Eva crouching²⁹ down, overcome with fear. He spoke²⁴ a few words of encouragement, and little Eva looked up into his face with wistful eyes.
 
Then Edgar looked round the ship as the light flashed on it again. He saw pale, blanched³⁰ faces all round him, men clinging in desperation to ropes and bars, and women holding their children fast, themselves held by strong men’s disengaged arms. It was an awful sight, but Edgar felt no fear for himself as he looked at it. He thought of the grand voyage they had gone through, and how near they were to their destination. The good ship was struggling on, and after going these thousands of miles was to be dashed to pieces at the very entrance to the harbour of safety. His mind wandered to those at home, and he seemed to see his father and sister sitting in the dear old room at Elm Lodge³¹, as on that last night in the home he loved so well. Their voices seemed to ring in his ears, giving him hope and encouragement. He smiled faintly as he imagined he could hear his father say:
 
‘You’re in a tight fix, my lad, but never despair; be brave and fight to the end.’
 
A loud cry of despair echoed through the night. It was wafted³² to the watchers on the rocks, who stood there helpless, unable to lend a hand to save the men and women going to sure destruction. Again it rose above the roar of the sea, and Edgar shuddered³³ as he heard it.
 
Well might the doomed ones cry aloud. To the right of them, not many yards away, yawned a large opening between the gigantic rocky Heads. Through that opening lay safety and rest, and yet no power on earth could drive the Distant Shore through it. Facing them was another gap, but there was no opening there; the solid rock rose straight out of the sea. On came the Distant Shore through the boiling, seething³⁴ mass of waters.
 
Captain Manton stood at his post. Once he cast his eyes in the direction of his cabin, and a satisfied smile played over his face as he saw Edgar there.
 
‘My life for theirs, O God!’ he cried.
 
He was not a man given to many prayers, but he believed his cry would be heard.
 
 
Edgar looked ahead. He saw the vessel heaved high upon the waves; he saw the merciless rock in front. There was not a moment to spare. He rushed into the cabin.
 
‘Give me Eva,’ he said. ‘You will have a better chance alone.’
 
The mother pressed her child to her heart and smothered her with kisses.
 
Edgar snatched the child away and sprang out of the cabin. At the same moment there was a terrific crash, a rending and splitting of timbers, cries and groans³⁵, shrieks³⁶ for help, and strange, unearthly sounds.
 
Edgar, with the child firmly clasped in his arms, was hurled³⁷ against the side of the vessel. He felt it give way, and as he glanced round he saw the ship shattered into a thousand pieces, and great timbers hurled high into the air. Then he felt the water rush over him, he was lifted off his feet and flung into the furious waves, with little Eva still clasped firm in his arms.