Still, as Trejago said, there was hope at last.  The gale had spent its chief force and was no longer directly on shore.  The more pressing and immediate danger was over.

“It won’t do to stop here, though,” he went on, “not one second longer than we can help.  Now that there is a slant in the wind we can run south under a close-reefed trysail and storm-jib.  What say you, doctor?”

“I’ll step down and see the general.”

“Don’t lose any time.  I should like to slip my cable this next half-hour.  I shan’t be happy till we’ve got sea-room.”

McKay went below with the doctor, and, while the latter sat with his patient, the aide-de-camp had a short talk with Mrs. Wilders.

“The captain wants to put to sea.”

“Never! not in this storm!”

“It is abating fast.  Besides, he says it will be far safer to be running snug under storm-canvas than remaining here on this wild coast.”

“I hope he will do no such thing.  It will be madness.  I must speak to him at once.”

She seized a shawl, and, throwing it over her head, ran up on deck.

McKay followed her and was by her side before she had left the companion-ladder.

“Take care, pray.  There is a heavy sea on still and the deck is very slippery.  I will call Captain Trejago if you will wait here.”

“One moment; do not leave me, Mr. McKay.  What an exciting, extraordinary scene!  But how terrible!”

The yacht rode the waves gallantly:  now on their crest, now in the trough between two giant rollers, and always wet with spray.  Fragments of wreck still came racing by, borne swiftly by the waters and adding greatly to the horrors of the dread story they told.

“There must have been immense loss among the shipping,” said McKay.  “It is a mercy and a marvel how we escaped.”

“The poor things!  To be lost—­cast away on this cruel, inhospitable land.  How very, very sad!”

“It is safer, you see, to leave this dangerous anchorage.  Do you still want the captain?  He is busy there forward.”

For the moment everyone was forward:  they were all intent on the straining cables and the muddle of gear that would have to be cleared or cut away when they got up sail.

So Mrs. Wilders and McKay stood at the cabin companion alone—­absolutely alone—­with the raging elements, the whistling wind still three parts of a gale, and the cruel, driving sea.

“Shall I fetch the captain?” McKay repeated.

“No, no!  Don’t disturb him; no doubt he is right.  I will go below again.  This is no place for me.”  She took one long, last survey of the really terrifying scene, but then, quite suddenly, there burst from her an exclamation of horror.

“There! there!  Mr. McKay, look:  on that piece of timber—­a figure, surely—­some poor shipwrecked soul!  Don’t you see?”

McKay, shading his eyes, gazed intently.