Clara and Thurstane, side by side and hand in hand, were also for the most part silent, now looking around them upon their fate, and then at each other for strength to bear it.

Meantime part of the crew had tried the pumps, and been washed away from them twice by seas, floating helplessly about the main deck, and clutching at rigging to save themselves, but nevertheless discovering that the brig was filling but slowly, and would have full time to strike before she could founder.

“’Vast there!” called the captain; “’vast the pumps!  All hands stand by to launch the boats!”

“Long boat’s stove!” shouted the mate, putting his hands to his mouth so as to be heard through the gale.

“All hands aft!” was the next order.  “Stand by to launch the quarter-boats!”

So the entire remaining crew—­two mates and eight men, including the steward—­splashed and clambered on to the quarter-deck and took station by the boat-falls, hanging on as they could.

“Can I do anything?” asked Thurstane.

“Not yet,” answered the captain; “you are doing what’s right; take care of the lady.”

“What are the chances?” the lieutenant ventured now to inquire.

With fate upon him, and seemingly irresistible, the skipper had dropped his grim air of conflict and become gentle, almost resigned.  His voice was friendly, sympathetic, and quite calm, as he stepped up by Thurstane’s side and said, “We shall have a tough time of it.  The land is only about ten miles away.  At this rate we shall strike it inside of three hours.  I don’t see how it can be helped.”

“Where shall we strike?”

“Smack into the Bay of Monterey, between the town and Point Pinos.’

“Can I do anything?”

“Do just what you’ve got in hand.  Take care of the lady.  See that she gets into the biggest boat—­if we try the boats.”

Clara overheard, gave the skipper a kind look, and said, “Thank you, captain.”

“You’re fit to be capm of a liner, miss,” returned the sailor.  “You’re one of the best sort.”

For some time longer, while waiting for the final catastrophe, nothing was done but to hold fast and gaze.  The voyagers were like condemned men who are preceded, followed, accompanied, jostled, and hurried to the place of death by a vindictive people.  The giants of the sea were coming in multitudes to this execution which they had ordained; all the windward ocean was full of rising and falling billows, which seemed to trample one another down in their savage haste.  There was no mercy in the formless faces which grimaced around the doomed ones, nor in the tempestuous voices which deafened them with threatenings and insult.  The breakers seemed to signal to each other; they were cruelly eloquent with menacing gestures.  There was but one sentence among them, and that sentence was a thousand times repeated, and it was always DEATH.