a turn to the helm and sent the vessel a point round.
"Rouse up these women, doctor," he shouted from his post; yet even as he did so the rest of his warning or order was lost in the wind-howl that burst upon them like the shriek of an enraged tigress, and in another instant they were buried under the white foam and spray of that swiftly-rushing wave.
"There goes the mizzen-mast," groaned Dennis, as he held on to the wheel with a giant's strength, straining his muscles as he turned it round against the rush, and shaking his head to get rid of the salt water that was now rolling from him. "I thought it must go if we had a sudden squall like this."
The descending sun gave one last wave of red light before she sank under the waves, and lighted up that confusion of cordage, sails, masts and yards, as they broke away and with a thunderous crash sank over the side.
"They ought to be hacked away, but who's to do it?" again asked Dennis helplessly, as he stuck to the wheel. "Where are they now, the doctor and the women?"
He peered through the gathering darkness for his companions, even while he did his best to steer. The waters about the ship were a furious mass of white and whirling curd, amongst which the vessel was labouring heavily, hampered with all that clinging mass of wreckage. He could not see his friends; they had been washed off the poop, either overboard or on to the main deck, and he could not leave his post to ascertain; the ship and his friends must now take their chance.
It was a hurricane without a cloud to denote its
