With these dispiriting words, the captain went away to see after the life-belts, and served out one to each man, which gave them at least some chance of floating to land. Martin neglected no chance of saving the ship, and put the helm up, whereon the fierce wind filled the remaining canvas, and drove The Eunice slowly ahead. For fully an hour she drifted to leeward, now being quite unmanageable, owing to the loss of screw and mast. Straight ahead lay Melnos, with the fierce surf thundering at its base, and the ship, unable to be guided, was drifting slowly but surely on to the rocks. Maurice, with considerable forethought, took Crispin with him below, and they filled their travelling-flasks with brandy. Meanwhile, the crew, utterly demoralized by the hopelessness of the situation, made for the spirit-room; but the captain placed himself in front of it with a revolver, and swore to shoot the first man who came forward. Still, as the men were weary from work, and wet and cold with long exposure, he ordered rum to be served out, which reconciled them somewhat to his prohibition of too much drinking. “Die like men, not beasts,” said Martin, thrusting the revolver back again when the crew were more manageable; “there is still a chance of saving our lives by the boats, and that will be gone if drink is in you.” By this time the yacht was so near the island that they could hear the roar of the surf, and see the white tongues of the waves running up the black rocks. Overhead heavy masses of clouds were moving like battalions across the sky, but the rain had ceased, and at intervals the moon shone out, which gave them but small comfort, as it enabled them to see only too clearly the perils which awaited them. The wind was still furious, and the sea rolling mountains high; its huge billows, topped with ragged fringes of foam glimmering in the fitful light, kept sweeping over the deck. Several men were swept overboard into the trough of the sea, but no assistance could be rendered by those on board, and with despairing cries they sank in the furious waters. Crispin, pitying the terror of Caliphronas, in spite of his dislike for the wily Greek, took him below and gave him some brandy. The Count was just raising the glass to his lips, when they were both levelled by a tremendous shock, which made the ship tremble from stem to stern. “God! she has struck!” cried Crispin, and tore up the stairs as hard as he was able, followed by Caliphronas, who was now nerved by despair.