Chapter Eleven. The Escape.Francisco’s eyes were fixed upon the vessel, over which the sea now broke with terrific violence. There appeared to be about eight or nine men on her deck, who sheltered themselves under the weather bulwarks. Each wave, as it broke against her side and then dashed in foam over her, threw her, with a convulsive jerk, still further on the sand-bank. At last she was so high up that their fury was partly spent before they dashed against her frame. Had the vessel been strong and well built—had she been a collier coasting the English shores—there was a fair chance that she might have withstood the fury of the storm until it had subsided, and that by remaining on board, the crew might have survived: but she was of a very different mould , and, as Francisco justly surmi
