he
men--those of them that were left--were in the rigging, for the deck
every moment was becoming more untenable. The wheel was broken and the
Russian Finn lay dead beside it, killed by a falling gaff, his swarthy
face, white now in the bright light, turned up to the stormy sky; and a
little farther for'ard, close to where Harper himself was standing, lay
the skipper, jammed against the skylight by a heavy hencoop.

He bent over him and attempted to move the hencoop.

"All right, mister," said the old man bitterly, "better leave it alone.
The old barkie's clean done for, an' I'm thinkin' we 're all bound for
the same port."

As the blue light died down the lad lighted another, and one or two men
dropped from the rigging and crawled to Harper's assistance.

"I ain't worth much now, mister," moaned the old man again; uwe 'll
never get out of this fix; "but they succeeded in dragging him aft
and lashing him in the rigging. The boy who had burned the blue lights
scrambled after them, and then, clinging there, hardly out of reach of
the hungry waves, commenced their long wait for daylight.

"What 's the time, sir?" asked the lad next the second mate.

"About eleven."

The boy drew a long sigh.

"Oh, Lordy! we can never hold on till morning, can we?"

"God knows."

A light started out of the darkness against the cliff--a light that grew
and grew till it was a great flame even from where they stood, and the
men in the rigging raised a shout.

"They see us ashore! Hurrah! hurrah!"

"Mighty little good their seeing us ashore 'll do us," said the bo'sun;
"hell 's between!" And looking at the strip of seething boiling water
that lay between them and the coast, Harper was obliged to acknowledge
the man was right.

Still it lent them some comfort--that bright fire. They were a handful
of men clinging there, drenched to the skin already, and every wave
wetted them again with its salt spray, the wind whistled through the
rigging bitter and cold, the icy rain like spear points cut their faces;
there was no hope for them, no hope at all save in that blazing fire on
shore.

Who shall describe the thoughts of men in extremity? Who shall say
whether they thought at all--those men half dead with cold, clinging for
dear life with numb hands to a slender rope that might give way at any
moment? Would they see the morning light?

Harper was surprised to find he took it so quietly. There was none of
the despair he had fancied