She ground her teeth, raised it a fourth time
taking careful aim. Then she let fly with all her strength, and the
axe bit deep. She raised it again, smiling now. Two strokes, three
strokes, four strokes. The keen blade severed the last inch of wood,
the hulk pitched forward, and the mast with its boom and its tangle of
rigging and canvas rolled from Dan and plunged into the sea.
He was on his feet in a second, and with his arm about her waist they
ran astern and reached their posts at the wheel in safety. But there
was no need to bother with the wheel now. There was nothing to do, in
fact, but sit inactive and accept what came to them.
And yet, had they but known it, Fate, which it may be said takes the
lives of the young grudgingly, had worked for their ultimate good. The
Gulf Stream had carried them to a point off Hatteras, and there the
storm had enveloped them. As Dan had surmised, it was from the
south-east, and laboring and flailing as sorely as she might, the winds
and the waves had steadily lashed the vessel toward safety.
They could not know that. It was only after an unusual interval in the
powerful wind-blast that Dan looked upward and suddenly held up his
hand. He looked at the vague form of the girl and bared his teeth in a
quick, mirthless smile.
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