Breakfast was a forlorn meal—­Robertson and his officers were not present, and Otway took the captain’s seat.  He, too, only remained to drink a cup of coffee, then hurriedly went on deck.  Lacy rose at the same time, but at the foot of the companion, Otway motioned him to stop.

“Don’t come on deck awhile, if you please,” he said, “and tell the ladies to keep to the cabin.”

“Anything fresh gone wrong?”

“Yes,” replied the supercargo, looking steadily at the clergyman—­“the ship is making water badly.  Don’t you hear the pumps going?  Tell the ladies not to come on deck—­say it is not safe.  And if the old Weidermann girl hears the pumps, and gets inquisitive, tell her that a lot of water got into the hold when that big sea tumbled aboard.  She’s an inquisitive old ass, and would be bound to tell the other ladies that the ship is in danger.”

Lacy nodded.  “All right, I’ll see to her.  How long has the ship been leaking?”

“For quite a long time.  And there is fourteen inches in her, and it’s as much as we can do to keep it under.”

“That is serious.”

Otway nodded.  “Yes, it is serious in weather like this.  Now I must go.  Daresay we may give you a call in the course of the morning.  Ever try a spell at old-fashioned brake pumps?  Fine exercise.”

“I’m ready now if you want me,” was the quiet answer.

The Tucopia was indeed in a pretty bad case.  Immediately after the fatal sea had swept her decks the carpenter had sounded the well and found fifteen inches of water, some little of which had got below through the fore-scuttle, but the greater portion, it was soon evident, was the result of a leak.  The barque was a comparatively new vessel, and Robertson and his officers, after two hours’ pumping, came to the conclusion that she had either strained herself badly or a butt-end had started somewhere.

For two hours the crew worked at the pumps, taking a spell of ten minutes every half-hour, Otway, the American captain Burr, and Mr. Lacy all lending a hand.  Then the well was sounded, and showed two inches less.

Robertson ordered the men to come aft and get a glass of grog.  They trooped down into the cabin wet and exhausted, and the steward served them each out half a tumblerful of good French brandy.  They drank it off, and then went on deck again to have a smoke before resuming pumping.  A quarter of an hour later the pumps choked.  There were a hundred tons of coal in the lower hold, and some of the small of it had been drawn up.  By the time the carpenter had them cleared the water had gained seven inches, and the little barque was labouring heavily.  Again, however, the willing crew turned to and pumped steadily for another hour, but only succeeded in reducing the water by an inch or two.  Then Robertson called his officers together and consulted.

“We can’t keep on like this much longer,” he said, “the water is gaining on us too fast.  And we can’t run before such a sea as this, in our condition; we should be pooped in less than five minutes.  We shall have to take to the boats in another couple of hours, unless a change takes place.  Mr. Allen, and you, Mr. Otway, see to the two boats, and get them in readiness.”