"We must turn to at the pumps, Peter, if we don't want to go to the
bottom."
We no longer thought of burying the captain, or doing anything but
keeping the brig afloat. The night began; Jim worked away as hard as
his failing strength would allow. I shouted to him to let me take a
spell.
"No, no; you keep at the helm, Peter," he answered; "I'll work till I
drop."
He only stopped now and then to take a look-out ahead.
The gale seemed to be increasing; the brig pitched and rolled more and
more. Suddenly there came a loud clap. The foresail had given way.
Jim ran forward, and lowered it on deck.
As I could no longer be of use at the helm, I ran to his help, and we
tried to set it again, but all our efforts were in vain. Every moment,
too, the seas now raging round the vessel threatened to break on board.
"Peter, the water is coming in as fast as we get it out, and if we don't
keep pumping it will gain upon us," said Jim.
For fear of being carried away, we made ourselves fast to some
stanchions near the pumps, so that we could reach the brakes, and worked
away till we were both ready to drop. Now and then we had to stop to
draw breath and regain our strength. The hard battered brig pitched and
rolled and tumbled, the seas dancing up wildly on every side of her.
Again we had stopped, when Jim exclaimed, "Hark! I hear the breakers."
I listened. The dreaded sound reached my ears. The brig was driving
rapidly towards them.