thinking something of the same kind, for at the end of dinner, just as we were about to go on deck, she bade the steward charge our glasses and proposed this toast:
"I drink to the Lone Star and those who have saved us to-day."
We drank the toast with enthusiasm and set our glasses down again. But just as we did so, there was a loud crash, a trembling of the entire vessel, a curious pause, and then another awful crash.
"We have struck something!" I cried, springing to my feet. Then, as if by instinct, I said, "Run to your cabins and get your shawls!"
They did so, and, by the time they emerged again, the hubbub was deafening; the sound of rending and tearing could only be described as awful. Then there was sudden and complete silence which was almost worse than the noise. We ran on desk and made our way as fast as we could to the bridge.
"What has happened?" I cried to Patterson, who was issuing orders as fast as his tongue could utter them.
"We have struck a rock that is not on my chart," he said. "And I have reversed the engines to pull her off."
I could see that we were going astern—but even a child could have told by the way the schooner moved that it was a hopeless case with her.
Even while he was speaking she was sinking perceptibly.
"There is no hope," he said at last, "we must leave her."
All the hands by this time were at their stations, and the boats were lowered with exquisite care and precision, fortunately they had been that very day uncovered and equipped, in case of accident, so that there was no possible cause for delay.
