On the forecastle, the work went on badly, and thither Captain Crutchely proceeded.  The second-mate scarce knew what he was about, and the captain took charge of the duty himself.  At the same time he issued an order to Mark to get up tackles, and to clear away the launch, preparatory to getting that boat into the water.  Hillson had bent the cable wrong, and much of the work had to be done over again.  As soon as men get excited, as is apt to be the case when they find serious blunders made at critical moments, they are not always discreet.  The precise manner in which Captain Crutchely met with the melancholy fate that befel him, was never known.  It is certain that he jumped down on the anchor-stock, the anchor being a cock-bill, and that he ordered Mr. Hillson off of it.  While thus employed, and at an instant when the cable was pronounced bent, and the men were in the act of getting inboard, the ship made a heavy roll, breakers again appeared all around her, the white foam rising nearly to the level of her rails.  The captain was seen no more.  There is little doubt that he was washed from the anchor stock, and carried away to leeward, in the midst of the darkness of that midnight hour.

Mark was soon apprised of the change that had occurred, and of the heavy responsibility that now rested on his young shoulders.  A feeling of horror and of regret came over him, at first; but understanding the necessity of self-command, he aroused himself, at once, to his duty, and gave his orders coolly and with judgment.  The first step was to endeavour to save the captain.  The jolly-boat was lowered, and six men got in it, and passed ahead of the ship, with this benevolent design.  Mark stood on the bowsprit, and saw them shoot past the bows of the vessel, and then, almost immediately, become lost to view in the gloomy darkness of the terrible scene.  The men never reappeared, a common and an unknown fate thus sweeping away Captain Crutchely and six of his best men, and all, as it might be, in a single instant of time!

Notwithstanding these sudden and alarming losses, the work went on.  Hillson seemed suddenly to become conscious of the necessity of exertion, and by giving his utmost attention to hoisting out the launch, that boat was got safely into the water.  By this time the ship had beaten so far over the reef, as scarcely to touch at all, and Mark had everything ready for letting go his anchors, the instant he had reason to believe she was in water deep enough to float her.  The thumps grew lighter and lighter, and the lead-line showed a considerable drift; so much so, indeed, as to require its being hauled in and cast anew every minute.  Under all the circumstances, Mark expected each instant, to find himself in four fathoms’ water, and he intended to let go the anchor the moment he was assured of that fact.  In the mean time, he ordered the carpenter to sound the pumps.  This was done, and the ship was reported with only the customary quantity of water in the well.  As yet her bottom was not injured, materially at least.