Coxon walked quickly forward to the poop-rail to try to see the vessel to windward. Then he went over to the other side and peered under the mainsail; after which he said, "I see nothing. Where is she?" I shouted through my hands, "On which bow is she?" "Right ahead!" came the reply. "There was a short pause, and then one of the men roared out, "Hard over! we're upon her! She's cutter rigged! she's a smack!" "Hard a-port! hard a-port!" bawled Coxon. I saw the spokes of the wheel fly round, but almost at the same moment, I felt a sudden shock--an odd kind of _thud_, the effect of which upon my senses was to produce the impression of a sudden lull in the wind. "God Almighty!" bellowed a voice, "we've run her down!" In a second I had bounded to the weather-side of the poop and looked over, and what I saw sliding rapidly past, was a mast and a dark-coloured sail, which in the daylight would probably be red, stretched flat upon the wilderness of foam which our ship was sweeping off her sides. Upon this ghastly white ground the sail and mast were distinctly outlined--for a brief moment only--they vanished even as I watched, swallowed up in the seething water. And then all overhead the sails of the ship began to thunder, and the rigging quivered and jerked as though it must snap. "Hard over! hard over!" bellowed Coxon. I saw him rush to the wheel, thrust away one of the men, and pull the spokes over with all his force. The vessel answered splendidly, swerved nobly round like a creature of instinct, and was again rushing headlong with full sail over the sea. This was a close shave. At the speed at which she was travelling she had obeyed the rudder in the first instance so promptly as to come round close to the wind. A few moments more and she would have been taken aback; and this, taking into consideration the amount of canvas she was carrying, must infallibly have meant the loss of most, if not of all, her spars. Horrified by the thoughts of living creatures drowning in our wake, I cried out to the skipper-- "Won't you make an effort to save them, sir?" "Save them be hanged!" he answered fiercely. "Why the devil didn't they get out of our road?" I was so much shocked by the coarse inhumanity of this reply, that I turned on my heel; but yet was constrained by an ugly fascination to turn again and cast shuddering glances at the spot where I pictured the drowning wretches battling with the waves. Captain Coxon was too intent upon the compass to notice my manner; he was giving directions to the men in a low voice, with his eyes fixed on the card. Presently he exclaimed, in his gruffest voice, "Call the carpenter to sound the well." This was soon despatched, and I returned and reported a dry bottom. "Heave the log, sir."