"A ship! A ship!"
He ran back and looked over into the seething hell of waters helow. Was
it only a thicker spot in the driving mist, or was it really a ship? If
so, God help her.
Small time to deliberate. Ere he could think twice about it, a full-rigged
ship, about five hundred tons, with a close-reefed topsail and a
rag of a foresail upon her, came rushing, rolling, diving, and plunging
on, apparently heading for the deadly white line of breakers which
stretched into the sea at the end of the promontory.
"A Queen's ship, Sam! a Queen's ship! The Tartar, for a thousand
pounds! Oh, what a pity; what a terrible pity!"
"Only a merchant ship, surely," said Sam.
"Did you ever see a merchant ship with six such guns as those on her
upper deck, and a hundred blue-jackets at quarters? That is the
Tartar, Sam, and in three minutes there will be no Tartar."
They had run in their excitement out to the very end of the Cape, and
now the ship was almost under their feet, an awful sight to see. She
was rolling fearfully, going dead before the wind. Now and then she
would slop tons of water on her deck, and her mainyard would almost
touch the water.
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