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The rock and the vessel were about to come in collision. The rock, like
a culprit, awaited the blow.
A resistless wave rushed in; it ended the respite. It caught the vessel
underneath, raised it, and swayed it for an instant as the sling swings
its projectile.
"Steady!" cried the chief; "it is only a rock, and we are men."
The beam was couched, the six men were one with it, its sharp bolts tore
their arm-pits, but they did not feel them.
The wave dashed the hooker against the rock.
Then came the shock.
It came under the shapeless cloud of foam which always hides such
catastrophes.
When this cloud fell back into the sea, when the waves rolled back from
the rock, the six men were tossing about the deck, but the Matutina
was floating alongside the rock--clear of it. The beam had stood and
turned the vessel; the sea was running so fast that in a few seconds she
had left the Caskets behind.
Such things sometimes occur. It was a straight stroke of the bowsprit
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