"Never, sir," answered Yeo.

"To St. Jago be it," said Amyas, "if we can get there: but--God help
us!"

And he looked round sadly enough; while no one needed that he should
finish his sentence, or explain his "but."

The fore-mast was gone, the main-yard sprung, the rigging hanging in
elf-locks, the hull shot through and through in twenty places, the deck
strewn with the bodies of nine good men, besides sixteen wounded down
below; while the pitiless sun, right above their heads, poured down a
flood of fire upon a sea of glass.

And it would have been well if faintness and weariness had been all
that was the matter; but now that the excitement was over, the collapse
came; and the men sat down listlessly and sulkily by twos and threes
upon the deck, starting and wincing when they heard some poor fellow
below cry out under the surgeon's knife; or murmuring to each other
that all was lost. Drew tried in vain to rouse them, telling them that
all depended on rigging a jury-mast forward as soon as possible. They
answered only by growls; and at last broke into open reproaches. Even
Will Cary's volatile nature, which had kept him up during the fight
gave way, when Yeo and the carpenter came aft, and told Amyas in a low
voice--

"We are hit somewhere forward, below the waterline, sir. She leaks a
terrible deal, and the Lord will not vouchsafe to us to lay our hands
on the place, for all our searching."