The brig lay over on one side, with her brittle rigging at the mercy of the wind and sea, the waves making a clean breach over her.  Salve himself went up and cut away the topmast, which went over the side to leeward; and as the first grey light of dawn appeared, and made the figures of the crew dimly distinguishable, the axes were still being feverishly plied in strong hands among the stays, backstays, and topmast rigging.  While the work was going on the fearful rolling caused first the main-topgallant sail to go, and then the topsail, with the yards and all belonging to it.  The forestay snapped, the mainsail split, and the lower yards and foremast were damaged.  And when at last, after desperate efforts, they had succeeded in freeing the ship from the encumbrance of the fallen rigging, she lay there more than half a wreck, and scarcely capable of doing more than run before the wind.

They had only the boom-mainsail now, and the forecourse, left; and with these Salve kept her away—­it was the only thing now to be done—­until the growing light should show them whether they had sea-room, or the dreaded Jutland coast before them.  The last, with this westerly gale blowing, would mean pretty nearly for a certainty stranding upon the sandbanks and the vessel becoming a wreck.

When it was clear day, they made out Horn’s Reef far down to the south-east; they lay about off Ringkjobing’s Fjord, and would require now to do their utmost to clear the coast.  With some difficulty they succeeded in rigging up a jury-mast, and managed by that means to keep up a little closer in the wind.  But their only chance was that the wind might go down, or shift a little to the southward, or in the current, which generally takes a northerly direction here, unless it should set them in too much under land.

Salve paced restlessly up and down his dismantled deck, where a great part of the bulwarks and the round-house forward were stove in, whilst the crew relieved each other two and two at the pumps.  They had evidently sprung a serious leak, which was the more cause for anxiety that they were returning in ballast, and had no timber cargo to keep them afloat.  He had confided their situation to Elizabeth.

“I am afraid we may be obliged to beach her at some convenient spot,” he said, adding, with a slight quiver in his voice, “we shall lose the brig.”

He laid emphasis upon this, because he didn’t wish to tell her the worst—­namely, that this convenient spot was not to be found upon the whole coast, and that their lives were unmistakably in danger.

Whatever happened, it seemed sufficient for Elizabeth that he was near her, and there was a look of quiet trust in her face as she turned towards him that went to his heart; he could not bear it, and turned away.

The brig and its possible loss did not occupy much of Elizabeth’s thoughts.  In the midst of their danger she was absolutely glad at heart at the thought that by her display of implicit confidence she had succeeded in winning a great victory with Salve.  After what she had gone through that night, this was everything to her.