The tide is rising, and as she lifts she beats each time a yard or two over the Sands; the timbers, piled upon her decks, speedily break loose and are washed away; the hull is writhing and working very badly--her seams open; and so heavily does she strike, that time after time the captain thinks that she must soon break up. This thrashing over the Sands lasts for about twenty minutes, when they find that she is in deep water, but completely water-logged, and torn and wrenched almost to pieces; her rudder is knocked away, and if her cargo were anything but deals she would sink at once, and all would be instantly drowned; as it is, so long as her timbers will hold together her cargo will keep her afloat, and her crew are comparatively safe. But she is by no means a strongly-built vessel, and could not by any possibility stand much more of the thumping and wrenching which she has just gone through, while beating over the Sands. The captain is still unable to make out where they are; they get a heave of the lead, and find that they are in thirteen fathoms of water; it must be a sandbank in the middle of a channel that they have just beaten over--they had better anchor at once for fear the ship should be driven upon another bank. "Is the anchor clear?" "No," cries the mate. (It is neglect of such matters as these that loses many a fine ship.) "Get the anchor and cable clear, then, as quickly as you can, or we shall be on the sands again; for although the brig is water-logged, the wind is driving her fast, and the tide is running with great speed." After some delay they get the anchor overboard, and the brig rides to it, head to wind. The men gather together in the stern of the vessel, and group round the captain, and as there is no work to be done to keep up their excitement, they the more fully realize their danger, and begin to express their fears. They speak of their wives and children, and bemoan their own probable fate. The captain is the greatest sufferer, and the bravest hearted of them all. "Look at me!" he replies. "Have not I got a wife? Have I not got six children? Do I want to be taken from them, any more than you do from yours? Besides, this is my own ship, you know that, and you know that she is all I have got--all I have worked and saved for; if I lose her, I lose all I have, and am a poor man again; you may be sure I'll do all I can to save the ship and our lives too."