Then, in that awful hour, Lucy Fountain felt her littleness and the
littleness of man. She cowered and trembled.
The sailors, rough but tender nurses, wrapped shawls round her one
above the other, "to make her snug for the night," they said. They
seemed to her to be mocking her. "Snug? Who could hope to outlive such
a fearful night? and what did it matter whether she was drowned in one
shawl or a dozen?"
David being amidships, bailing the boat out, and Jack at the helm, she
took the opportunity, and got very close to the latter, and said in
his ear--
"Mr. Jack, we are in danger."
"Not exactly in danger, miss; but, of course, we must mind our eye.
But I have often been where I have had to mind my eye, and hope to be
again."
"Mr. Jack," said Lucy, shivering, "what is our danger? Tell me the
nature of it, then I shall not be so cowardly; will the boat break?"
"Lord bless you, no."
"Will it upset?"
"No fear of that."
"Will not the sea swallow us?"
"No, miss. How can the sea swallow us? She rides like a cork, and
there is the skipper bailing her out, to make her lighter still. No;
I'll tell you, miss; all we have got to mind is two things; we must
not let her broach to, and we must not get pooped."
"But _why_ must we not?"
"_Why?_ Because we _mustn't."_
"But I mean, what would be the consequence of--broaching to?"
Jack opened his eyes in astonishment. "Why, the sea would run over her
quarter, and swamp her.
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