The six hurried along the cliff and then down to the port, followed by the whole of the fishermen. A couple of trips with the dinghy took them on board.
“Now, then,” Tom Burdett said to Dick’s father, “we will get the fore-sail out and rig it as a try-sail. Dick, you cut the lashings and get the main-sail off the hoops. We will leave it and the spars here; do you lend him a hand, Jack Thompson.”
In five minutes the main-sail with its boom and gaff was taken off the mast and tied together. A rope was attached to them and the end flung ashore, where they were at once hauled in by the fishermen, who crowded the wharf, every soul in the village having come down at the news that the Surf was going out. By this time holes had been made along the leach of the sail, and by these it was lashed to the mast-hoops. The top-mast was sent down to the deck, launched overboard, and hauled ashore; the mizzen was closely reefed, but not hoisted.
“We will see how she does without it,” Tom said; “she may like it and she may not. Now, up with the try-sail and jib, and stand by to cast off the moorings as she gets weigh on her; I will take the tiller. Marco, do you and Mr. Horace stand by the mizzen-halliards ready to hoist if I tell you.”
As the Surf began to move through the water a loud cheer broke from the crowd on shore, followed by a dead silence. She moved but slowly as she was under the lee of the west pier.
“Ben, do you and the other two kick out the lower plank of the bulwark,” Tom Burdett said; “we shall want to get rid of the water as fast as it comes on board.”
The three men with their heavy sea-boots knocked out the plank with a few kicks.
“Now, the one on the other side,” Tom said; and this was done just as they reached the entrance between the piers. She was gathering way fast now.
“Ease off that jib-sheet, Dick,” the skipper cried. “Stand by to haul it in as soon as the wind catches the try-sail.”
Tom put down the helm as he reached the end of the pier, but a great wave caught her head and swept her half round. A moment later the wind in its full force struck the try-sail and she heeled far over with the blow.
“Up with the mizzen!” Tom shouted. “Give her more sheet, Dick!” As the mizzen drew, its action and that of the helm told, and the Surf swept up into the wind. “Haul in the jib-sheet, Dick. That is enough; make it fast. Ease off the mizzen-sheet a little, Marco! That will do. Now lash yourselves with lines to the bulwark.”
For the first minute or two it seemed to Horace that the Surf, good boat as she was, could not live through those tremendous waves, each of which seemed as if it must overwhelm her; but although the water poured in torrents across her deck it went off as quickly through the hole in the lee bulwark, and but little came over her bow.
“She will do, sir!” Tom, close to whom he had lashed himself, shouted. “It will be better when we get a bit farther out. She is a beauty, she is, and she answers to her helm well.”
Gradually the Surf drew out from the shore.
“Are you going to come about, Tom?”
“Not yet, sir; we must get more sea-room before we try. Like enough she may miss stays in this sea. If she does we must wear her round.”
“Now we will try,” he said five minutes later. “Get those lashings off. Mr. Horace, you will have to go up to the other side when she is round. Get ready to go about!” he shouted. “I will put the helm down at the first lull. Now!”
The Surf came round like a top, and had gathered way on the other tack before the next big wave struck her.
“Well done!” Tom Burdett shouted joyously, and the others echoed the shout. In ten minutes they were far enough out to get a sight of the ship as they rose on the waves.
“Just as I thought,” Ben muttered; “he thinks he will weather Ram’s Head, and he will go ashore somewhere on that reef of rocks to a certainty.”
In another five minutes the course was again changed, and the Surf bore directly for the barque. In spite of the small sail she carried the water was two feet up the lee planks of her deck, and she was deluged every time by the seas, which struck her now almost abeam. But everything was battened down, and they heeded the water but little.
“What do you think of her now?” Tom shouted to his brother-in-law. “Didn’t I tell you she would stand a sea when your fishing-boats dare not show their noses out of the port?”
“She is a good ’un and no mistake, Tom. I did not think a craft her size could have lived in such a sea as this. You may brag about her as you like in future, and there ain’t a man in Seaport as will contradict you.”
They were going through the water four feet to the barque’s one, and they were but a quarter of a mile astern of her when Horace exclaimed, “She has struck!” and at the same moment her main and foremast went over the side.
“She is just about on the shallowest point of the reef,” Ben Harper said. “Now, how are you going to manage this job, Tom?”
“There is only one way to do it,” the skipper said. “There is water enough for us. Tide has flowed an hour and a half, and there must be two fathoms where she is lying. We must run up under her lee close enough to chuck a rope on board. Get a light rope bent on to the hawser. They must pull that on board, and we will hang to it as near as we dare.”
“You must go near her stern, Tom, or we shall get stove in with the masts and spars.”
“Yes, it is lucky the mizzen is standing, else we could not have gone alongside till they got rid of them all, and they would never do that afore she broke up.”
Horace, as he watched the ship, expected to see her go to pieces every moment. Each wave struck her with tremendous force, sending cataracts of water over her weather gunwale and across her deck. Many of the seas broke before they reached her, and the line of the reef could be traced far beyond her by the white and broken water.
“Now, then,” the skipper shouted, “I shall keep the Surf about twice her own length from the wreck, and then put the helm hard down and shoot right up to her.”
“That will be the safest plan, Tom. There are two men with ropes standing ready in the mizzen-shrouds.”
“I shall bring her in a little beyond that, Ben, if the wreck of the mainmast isn’t in the way; the mizzen may come out of her any moment, and if it fell on our decks it would be good-bye to us all.”
A cheer broke from the men huddled up under shelter of the weather bulwark as the little craft swept past her stern.
“Mind the wreck!” a voice shouted.
Tom held up his hand, and a moment later put the helm down hard. The Surf swept round towards the ship, and her way carried her on until the end of the bowsprit was but five or six yards distant. Then Tom shouted:
“Now is your time, Dick;” and the rope was thrown right across the barque, where it was grasped by half a dozen hands.
“Haul in till you get the hawser,” Dick shouted; “then make it fast.” At the same moment two ropes from the ship were thrown, and caught by Marco and Ben. Tom left the tiller now and lowered the try-sail. By the time the hawser was fast on board, the Surf had drifted twice her own length from the ship. “That will do, Ben; make the hawser fast there.” Two strong hawsers were hauled in from the ship and also made fast.
“Now you can come as soon as you like,” Tom shouted. As the hawsers were fastened to the weather-side of the vessel, which was now heeled far over, it was a sharp incline down to the deck of the Surf, and the crew, throwing their arms and legs round the hawsers, slid down without difficulty,