speed slackened, and as she yielded to the pressure of wind and wave the clamor of her struggle sank to comparative silence.

A few seconds later the captain appeared on the bridge. He, like the officer, gave particular heed to something which lay straight ahead. Evidently he approved of the action taken by his subordinate, because, as well as Maseden could judge, he stood beside the telegraph, with a hand on the lever, but made no further alteration in the ship’s speed.

Naturally Maseden wondered what had happened and watched closely for developments. In better weather he would have gone outside, but it was positively dangerous now to stand close to the ship’s rail, or, indeed, remain on any part of the open deck, while the shadow of an attempt on his part to climb the forecastle ladder would have evoked a gruff order to return.

Within a minute or less, however, he made out that the Southern Cross was passing through a quantity of wreckage, mostly rough-hewn timber. Here and there a spar would [Pg 101]unexpectedly thrust its tapering point high above the tawny vortex of the waves; at odd times a portion of a bulkhead and fragments of white-painted panels would be revealed for an instant. Some unfortunate sailing ship had been torn to shreds by the gale, and the steamer was just passing through that section of the sea-plain still cumbered by her fragments, though the tragedy itself had probably occurred many a mile away from that particular point on the map.

[Pg 101]

By this time the stopping of the engines had aroused every member of the crew not on watch. Some of the men, bleary-eyed with sleep, gathered in the cabin, and their comments were illuminating.

“Wind-jammer gone with all hands,” said one man, after a critical glance at the flotsam on both sides of the ship.

“What for have we slowed up?” inquired another. “The old man ain’t thinkin’ of lowerin’ a boat, is he?”

“Lower a boat, saphead, in a sea like this!” scoffed the first speaker.

“Wouldn’t he try to rescue any poor sailor-men who may be clingin’ to the wreck?” came the retort.

“As though any sort of blisterin’ wreck could live in this weather! Try again, Jimmy. We’re dodgin’ planks an’ ropes; that’s our [Pg 102]special stunt just now. One o’ them hefty chunks o’ lumber would knock a hole in us below the water-line before you could say ‘knife’. An’ how 

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