Soon they could distinguish on the deluged deck two men enveloped in brown mantles with hoods, who were employing every possible effort to hold the whip-staff of the rudder. Five other sailors, squatting at the prow, or holding on to the rigging, awaited the moment to aid in the manoeuvre. So, by turns carried to the top of the waves and plunged in their depths, the polacre was hastening with frightful speed to tie narrow entrance of the channel, where the waves were dashing with fury. “By St Elmo!” cried Captain Simon, “there’s a ship gone to destruction!” “She is lost,” replied Hugues, coldly; “in a few minutes her rigging and hull will be nothing but a wreck, and her sailors will be corpses. May the Lord save the souls of our brothers!” “Why did he dare venture in this passage at such a time?” said the gunner. “If a man is to be shipwrecked it is better to perish with a feeble hope. When a man hopes, he prays, and dies a Christian; when he despairs, he blasphemes, and dies a pagan. “Look, look, Simon, there is the little boat going into the breakers; it is all up with her!” At that moment the commander, who had been informed of the approach of the vessel and of her desperate condition, appeared on deck with all the chevaliers, officers, and others who manned the galley. After carefully examining the polacre and the breakers, Pierre des Anbiez called out, in a loud and solemn voice: “Let the two long-boats be ready and equipped to gather the corpses on the beach: no human power can save this unfortunate ship. Only God can help her.” While the overseers superintended the execution of this order, the commander, turning to the chaplain, said: “My brother, let us say the prayers for the dying, for these unfortunate men. Brothers, on your knees. Let the crew uncover.” It was a grand and imposing spectacle. All the chevaliers, clothed in black, were kneeling bareheaded on the deck; the bell for prayer dolefully tolled a funeral knell amid the wild shrieks of the tempest. The slaves were also on their knees and uncovered. In the rear, in the middle of a group of chevaliers dressed in black, Father Elzear in his white cassock could be distinguished. Prayers for the dying were said with as much solemnity as if they were being recited in a church on land, or in a cloister. It was not a mere form; these monk-soldiers were sad and contemplative. As sailors they saw a vessel without hope; as Christians they prayed for the souls of their brothers. In fact the polacre seemed in danger of going down every moment. The furious waves, rushing into the channel on their way to the sea, broke the current and whirled and tossed in every direction. Her sails, by which she might have made steady headway, were blown under the enormous rocks; her rudder was useless, and she was at the mercy of the wind and waters which rushed back and forth in unabating rage. The prayers and chants continued without cessation.