The only sail that remained sound was the foresail, and this seemed as though it would go every moment, for the boys had not been strong enough to manage the last reef. If it were to go, the schooner could not be kept before the wind, the waves would board her over the quarter, and she would go down.

Not an island had been sighted; and there could be no continent yet awhile to the eastward. To run ashore was a terrible thing to do, but the boys did not fear its terrors so much as those of this interminable sea. A lee shore, with its shoals, it breakers, the terrible waves roaring on to it, and beaten into surf by the rocks, might, they thought, prove safe enough to them; at least it would be firm ground, and not this raging ocean, which any minute might open under their feet. And so they looked ahead for some light to which they could steer.

But there was no light in that thick darkness!

Suddenly, about one o’clock, a fearful crash was heard above the roaring of the storm.

‘There goes the foremast!’ said Donagan.

‘No,’ said Moko; ‘it is the foresail blown out of the bolt ropes!’

‘We must clear it,’ said Briant. ‘You remain at the wheel, Gordon, with Donagan; and Moko, come and help me.’

Briant was not quite ignorant of things nautical. On his voyage out from Europe he had crossed the North Atlantic and Pacific, and had learnt a little seamanship, and that was why his companions, who knew none whatever, had left the schooner in his and Moko’s hands.

Briant and the negro rushed forward. At all costs the foresail must be cut adrift, for it had caught and was bellying out in such a way that the schooner was in danger of capsizing, and if that happened she could never be righted, unless the mast were cut away and the wire shrouds broken, and how could the boys manage that?

Briant and Moko set to work with remarkable judgment. Their object was to keep as much sail on the schooner as possible, so as to steer her before the wind as long as the storm lasted. They slacked off the halliards and let the sail down to within four or five feet of the deck, and they cut off the torn strips with their knives, secured the lower corners, and made all snug. Twenty times, at least, were they in danger of being swept away by the waves.

Under her very small spread of canvas the schooner could still be kept on her course, and though the wind had so little to take hold of, she was driven along at the speed of a torpedo-boat. The faster she went the better. Her safety depended on her going faster than the waves, so that none could follow and board her.

Briant and Moko were making their way back to the wheel when the door of the companion again opened. A boy’s head again appeared. This time it was Jack, Briant’s brother, and three years his junior.

‘What do you want, Jack?’ asked his brother.

‘Come here! Come here!’ said Jack. ‘There’s water in the saloon.’ Briant rushed down the companion-stairs. The saloon was confusedly lighted by a lamp, which the rolling swung backwards and forwards. Its light revealed a dozen boys lounging on the couches around. The youngest—there were some as young as eight—were huddling against each other in fear.

‘There is no danger,’ said Briant, wishing to give them confidence. ‘We are all right. Don’t be afraid.’

Then holding a lighted lantern to the floor, he saw that some water was washing from side to side.

Whence came this water? Did it come from a leak? That must be ascertained at once.

Forward of the saloon was the day-saloon, then the dining-saloon, and then the crew’s quarters.

Briant went through these in order, and found that the water had been taken in from the seas dashing over the bows, down the fore-companion, which had not been quite closed, and that it had been run aft by the pitching of the ship. There was thus no danger on this head.

Briant stopped to cheer up his companions as he went back through the saloon, and then returned to his place at the helm. The schooner was very strongly built, and had only just been re-coppered, so that she might withstand the waves for some time.

It was then about one o’clock. The darkness was darker than ever, and the dark clouds still gathered; and more furiously than ever raged the storm. The yacht seemed to be rushing through a liquid mass that flowed above, beneath, and around her. The shrill cry of the petrel was heard in the air. Did its appearance mean that land was near? No; for it is often met with hundreds of miles at sea. And, in truth, these birds of the storm found themselves powerless to struggle against the aerial current, and by it were borne along like the schooner.

An hour later there was another report from the bow. What remained of the foresail had been split to ribbons, and the strips flew off into space like huge seagulls.

‘We have no sail left!’ exclaimed Donagan; ‘and it is impossible for us to set another.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Briant ‘We shall not get along so fast, that is all!’

‘What an answer!’ replied Donagan. ‘If that is your style of seamanship—’

‘Look out for the wave astern!’ said Moko. ‘Lash yourselves, or you’ll be swept overboard—’

The boy had not finished the sentence when several tons of water came with a leap over the taffrail.