"Look out!" shouted the master-pilot, who was standing at the helm.
"We'll have a job in this sea, but we must try and get hold of her
in tacking, and you, Victor, throw yourself into her rigging as
soon as you get the chance ... bring the boat round! Now! Clear!"

The cutter turned and steered a course to the brig which lay outside,
pitching.

"Queer that she should have furled all her canvas. ... Can any
one see a light aboard? No! And no light on the masthead, either!
Look out, Victor!" Now the cutter was alongside; Victor stood
waiting on the gunwale, and the next time she rose on the crest of
a big wave, he leapt into the rigging of the brig, while the cutter
sheered off, tacked, and made for the harbour.

Victor sat in the rigging, half-way between deck and cross-trees,
trying to recover his breath before descending on deck. As soon as
he came down he went to the helm, which was quite the right thing
for him to do. Imagine how shocked he was when he found it deserted!
He shouted "Ho there!" but received no reply.

"They're all inside, drinking," he thought, peering through the
cabin windows. No, not a soul! He crossed over to the kitchen,
examined the quarterdeck,--not a living being anywhere. Then he
realised that he was on a deserted ship; he concluded that she had
sprung a leak and was sinking.

He tried to discover the whereabouts of the cutter, but she had
disappeared in the darkness.