two axes that hung by the cabin door, and came forward with them. The
mast was pounding our side in a way that would start the planking before
long, and it must be cut adrift, and by that time I could join him.

When that was done, and it did not take long, we cleared the anchor and
cable and let go, for it was time. The sound of the surf was drowning
all else. But the anchor held, and the danger was over for the while,
and as one might think altogether; but the tide was running against the
gale, and what might happen when it turned was another matter.

Now we got the sail on deck again, and unlaced it from the yard, setting
that in place with some sort of rigging, ready to be stepped as a mast
if the wind shifted to any point that might help us off shore.

It may be thought how we watched that one cable that held us from the
waves and the place where they broke, for therein lay our only chance,
and we longed for the clear light that comes after rain, that we might
see the worst, at least, if we were to feel it. But the anchor held, and
presently we lost the feeling of a coming terror that had been over us,
the utmost peril being past. My father went to the after cabin now, and
though the poor children were bruised with the heavy rolling of the ship
as she came into the wind, they were all well save Havelok, and he had
fallen asleep in my mother's arms at last.

With the turn of the tide, which came about three hours after midday,
the clouds broke, and slowly the land grew out of the mists until we
could see it plainly, though it was hardly higher than the sea that
broke over it in whirling masses of spindrift. By-and-by we could see
far-off hills beyond wide-stretching marshlands that looked green and
rich across yellow sandhills that fringed the shore. And from them we