The skipper himself took to the fore rigging, and placed one of the watch handy to the wheel; finally he called all hands up very quietly, and the men hung on anyhow.

One drift after another passed by in dim majesty, and the spectacle, with all its desolation, was one never to be forgotten.

After half an hour or so, Blair glanced up and noticed a dim form sliding down the shrouds; then the skipper rushed aft, for the helmsman could not see him, and then came a strange dark cloud of massive texture looming through the delirious dance of the fog-wreaths.

First a flare was tried, then the bell was rung with trebled vigour.
"Down below, sir, and call all up.

He's yawed into us." Blair saw the shape of a large vessel start out in desperate closeness; and running through to the saloon, cried quickly, "All up on deck! Ferrier, Fullerton, Tom, lend a hand with the ladies." A yell was heard above; the poor sick folk came out in piteously thin wrappings, moaning as they walked, and all the company got on deck just in time to see a big barque go barely clear.
The youngest girl fainted, and Marion Dearsley attended to her with a steady coolness that earned the admiration of her assistant--the doctor.
The serried ranks of the wreaths ceased to pour on, and the worn-out landsfolk went below.
Right on into the next night the unwearied gale blew; significant lumps of wreckage drifted past the schooner, and two floating batches of fish-boxes hinted at mischief.