"Falling fast," he said shortly, "and it's getting much colder. We're in for a dusting, I think. Mr King, get those sails taken off her, and make all taut. I'll go my rounds in half an hour and see how things are." He crossed the deck and fell into earnest conversation with his mate, leaving Phil to make his way aft and talk matters over with Tony. The captain's fears were not unfounded. That evening, November 14th, a gale of wind sprang up, blowing dead on-shore, and soon a terrific storm was raging. With her head jammed close up into it, the _Columbine_ seemed to make fair progress; but soon darkness had obscured the cliffs, and there was nothing by which to judge their position. "We're far closer to those cliffs than I like," Phil shouted in Tony's ear. "Still, we seem to be getting well out to sea, and if only we can manage that we ought to be safe." "I'd rather be fighting the whole Russian army than knocking about here," Tony roared back. "'Tain't that only neither. This sea puts a chap off his grub, and we ain't had such a lot of late as to let us afford it. Look what a rat I'm getting;" and with a comical air of despair he clutched the tunic he wore, to show that it was too large for him. An hour passed, and it was very evident that the fury of the storm increased rather than diminished. Phil struggled on to the poop and found his way to the captain's side. "We're in the hands of Providence, I reckon," cried the old sailor reverently. "Every foot we make we lose to leeward, and away over in that direction are the cliffs. We're running a trifle more along the coast now, for there's not a ship that's built that could face this gale. God help us, young man! We can do nothing more for ourselves." Three hours later a tremendous sea struck the ill-fated ship and smashed her rudder to pieces. Instantly she commenced to broach to. "Get a grip of something to hold you up," shouted the captain. "That'll finish her. Good-bye, lad!" Phil grasped his hand for the moment and looked into his face. It showed more clearly than a book could how desperate the situation was. Leaving him, he crawled along to Tony. "Get hold of a rope, old man," he screamed in his ear. "She's going fast towards the rocks." Whipping out their knives, they soon obtained two long pieces of stout cordage. With these they tied two of the large wooden gratings at the hatchway together, and obtaining some more rope, secured themselves to the woodwork, so that if the ship went down the hatchings would float away and support them.