Pushes ship

Soon, the two vessels were lashed together rather perilously. The mighty clipper ship dwarfed the tossing schooner.
The Courser rode over a dozen feet higher than the Orion. It was impossible to see the deck from their inferior vantage point. But from a distance, it had appeared deserted.
…
Captain Savage examined the sprung masts first and the pain evident on his sun- and wind-burned features was acute.
“You are correct, Mister Savage. No gale did this horrific damage. Nor shell, either. It would be impossible to aim artillery so accurately that only the masts were taken away, and the rails to survive undamaged as they have.”
“It is difficult to guess what might have contained the force to snap all three masts in identical ways,” offered Doc.
“I agree. But your eyes tell you the same tale that my eyes do. So there you have it.”
Doc scrutinized a clump of spidery, rotting ratline that lay athwart the port rail. It had come loose during the uprooting of the masts, obviously.
“There must be an explanation,” he said firmly.
Captain Savage directed his piercing gaze on his son. “As I recall, you were a great reader of Sherlock Holmes in your youth. Have you any theories of a deductive nature?”
“As I recall, you disapproved of my taste in authors.”
“I have always been partial to Shakespeare, as you are well aware.”
“Shakespeare wrote about human affairs,” countered Doc. “Conan Doyle taught me to look at the world through scientific perceptions.”
“Well, here is your opportunity to vindicate that wasted portion of your youth,” returned Captain Savage sternly.
Responding to the challenge, Doc moved about the deck, examining each splintery stub in turn.
“Had any wind or man-made power done this,” offered Doc, “the masts would have necessarily toppled in such a way as to ruin deck and rails—if not the superstructure.”
“I observe the same thing that you do. Pray, continue.”
“If the masts did not fall down, they must have gone up.”
“Preposterous!”
“See for yourself, Captain. The way the splinters are grouped on each mast heel, unmistakably twisted.”
The elder Savage fingered one splintery stub, removing a tendril of wood for closer examination.
“Sails caught in a gale would not create this,” he murmured. “The canvas would be sundered before the masts began turning in their collars.”
“We have already established that,” said Doc. “Each mast was individually torn loose and carried away.”
Challenge burned in the old man’s eyes. “By what? I await your explanatory theory.”
Doc considered this for a long period.
“Occam’s Razor suggests one possibility,” he mused. “Something wrenched the masts loose and flung them in such a way so as not to damage the rest of the Courser.”
“Yes, yes, I comprehend your drift,” said the elder Savage impatiently. “But by what miraculous agency?”
Doc pondered this question. “Were we living in the days of Ulysses, I would have suggested a Cyclops. But it would appear that only a giant approximately the size of Alfred Bulltop Stormalong could have accomplished this easily. He was said to stand thirty feet tall.”

Doc Savage: Skull Island, Chapter 12


“I have lived here for many, many moons, growing wiser every passing year. I am safer here than you are on your ship, Gold Eyes. Especially once Kong learns of you. Kong does not like ships, or the men they bring to his domain.”
“I see.”
“Kong was the one who broke the ship of Stormalong Savage and pushed it out to sea so that it could bring no more outlander men to Skull Mountain Island.”
Doc considered the querulous crone’s words. His thoughts flashed back to the mirror message written in soap back on the Courser. Not King—Kong! Evidently, it had been a warning.
“You saw this happen?” asked Doc.
The old woman shook her white head slowly. “No, I heard it happen. I know the sound of Kong when he snaps great trees in his hairy hands. This was the same sound. Thunder is no louder. Less!”
“Tell me more,” invited Doc.
“When I looked out over the lagoon, the masts and sails of the ship were floating in the water and Kong was pushing it out to sea,” Penjaga said firmly.

Doc Savage: Skull Island, Chapter 23