It hung there silent,
that figure--it seemed almost an eternity. It hung as silent as a
piece of sail and as fitfully swaying. Suddenly one hand relaxed and
fell limp. It was as though something had sucked the breath from every
onlooker. The hand was feebly raised in a futile clutch to regain the
lost hold. It fell again. Still there was silence.
A dark form cleaved the gloom and lay in a black huddle upon the lumber
amidships, until a boarding wave kindly removed it and spurned it upon
the beach as it would a drowned dog. Ten minutes later the foremast
went and the life-savers, dashing into the surf, took out of the
rigging a dead sea-cook.
And still the tugs lay like vultures awaiting carrion. Both had come
down to the wreck in the hope of getting a line over her and pulling
her from the sands, for which there would have been ample reward. But
it was too rough to approach her and she was too far gone to warrant
salving, even were it possible. But there were men dying before their
eyes and no one was lifting a hand. Dan was in a red-headed glare of
emotion. He was too young to look upon such things calmly. He turned
his eyes from the wreck to the _Sovereign_, just as her bow went up on
a wave, showing the red underbody. And it reminded him of the yawning
mouth of some sea monster hungry for prey.
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