"Tell the captain," yelled Ellerton to his chum, "to order those men to set the storm staysail, if they value their hides."
Andy interpreted the order, which the captain, gaining a faint suspicion of confidence, communicated to the bo'sun.
The bare chance of saving their lives urged the men into action. Unharmed, they succeeded in gaining the fo'c'sle, and in less than ten minutes the stiff canvas was straining on the forestay.
Gathering way, the _San Martin_, no longer rolling, pounded sluggishly through the foam-flecked sea.
Ellerton would not risk setting any canvas aft; he was content to let the vessel drive.
"Ask him whether we have plenty of sea room--whether there is any danger of running ashore during the next hour or so?"
"No, señor; there is plenty of sea room."
That was enough. The apprentice cared not what course he steered, so long as he kept the waves well on the quarter. When the hurricane was over they could carry on till they fell in with some passing vessel and got a tow into port.
"That's right. Tell him to take his watch below," continued the apprentice. "And you might get hold of some oilskins, Andy."
Obediently the skipper left the bridge, and, steeling himself for a long trick at the helm, Ellerton grasped the spokes of the wheel with firm hands.
At length the day broke, and with it a regular deluge of rain, pouring from an unbroken mass of scudding, deep blue clouds. The rain beat down the vicious crests, but the sea still ran "mountains high."
About noon Mr. McKay expressed his intention of joining Ellerton on the bridge, and assisted by his son he left the shelter of the poop.
From the foot of the poop-ladder to that of the bridge a life-line had been rigged to give the protection that the shattered bulwarks no longer afforded.
When midway between the two ladders, a roll of the vessel caused Mr. McKay to lurch heavily towards the rope. His wounded limb proved unequal to the strain, and falling heavily upon the main rope his weight broke the lashings that held it to the ring-bolt. Before Andy could save him, Mr. McKay had crashed against the main hatchway.
"I'm afraid so," replied his father, manfully suppressing a groan. "My leg is broken."
By dint of considerable exertion the sufferer was taken back to the saloon, and the ship's surgeon, who had been routed out of his cabin, pronounced the injury to be a double fracture.