CHAPTER XXXIII
IN WHICH COMRADES IN COURAGE LAUNCH THEMSELVES UPON THE DEEP
BRANDON’S glass had been turned upon the figure on the wreck for the few moments during which the others had been discussing the possibility of saving the poor creature. Now he exclaimed hurriedly.
“That’s not a man—it’s a woman! Don’t you see her skirts blowing in the gale? She is alone on the wreck.”
Caleb seized his own glass again, and Mr. Bolin dived into the cabin for his.
“You’re right, lad,” the captain declared. “Either all the men have been swept overboard, or the white livered rascals have taken to the boats and abandoned her.”
But Brandon was making other discoveries. As the steamer cut through the huge waves, approaching nearer and nearer to the wreck, something about the outlines of the female figure seemed familiar to him.
He knew the face which was turned pleadingly toward the steamer—the powerful glass revealed every feature clearly.
It was Milly Frank!
At the instant of Brandon’s discovery, the steamer gave a sudden roll, and he was thrown partially from his balance and his glass wavered an instant from the girl’s face.
In that instant the stern of the fated vessel came within range of his vision and he plainly saw the word “Success” painted in tarnished gold lettering upon it.
“Caleb! Caleb!” he cried, forgetting for the moment to apply the proper term of respect to the captain which, according to the quarter deck etiquette, he should have done, “that’s the Success, and the girl is the captain’s daughter!”
“Oh, it can’t be, lad!” cried the old man, unwilling to believe such a fact possible.
“It is the Success—I see her name,” Mr. Bolin declared.
“Poor little girl! poor little girl!” exclaimed the honest old sailor brokenly. “We can’t stand here and see her perish.”
“I shan’t,” Brandon affirmed, passing his own glass to Mr. Coffin.
“What can you do, lad?” queried Caleb. “The gale’s not abating a mite.”
“All that we can do I see, sir, is to stand by till the sea goes down, and then, God willing, take her off,” said Mr. Coffin.
“Why, that old hulk may sink at any moment!” cried Brandon. “I won’t stay idle and see that girl drown after all she has done for me.”
“An’ it’s Adoniram’s niece—no doubt of it,” murmured Caleb.
“That is another reason why we should try to save her. I haven’t forgotten all that Mr. Pepper has done for me,” declared Brandon decidedly.
“But, lad, lad, what can we do?” gasped the captain. “It’s not a living possibility to send a boat to that brig, and I dare not risk the lives of all these men in my care by running in near enough for a cable to be thrown.”
“And the girl probably couldn’t fasten it, if we did,” added Mr. Bolin.
“Then we must do something else. Run by her, Caleb, and I’ll carry a rope to the brig.”
“You’re crazy!” cried Mr. Coffin.
“Maybe I am,” Brandon returned, his face white and set; “but I shall do it.”
Swivel, who was clinging to a guard rope within hearing, struck in with him.
“Lemme do it, Brandon—I mean Mr. Tarr. I kin swim like a fish.”
“Nobody shall go but myself,” the boy declared, with emphasis. “I won’t suggest a perilous undertaking and not be the one to carry it out.”
“Cap’n Tarr right over again,” Caleb muttered.
Then he turned suddenly upon his young second officer.
“Kick off your shoes, lad, and try it. If it’s the Lord’s will that you accomplish it, well and good; if you can’t, we’ll haul you back. Quick, now! I’ll order Mike to go ahead full speed.”
Before the words were scarcely out of the captain’s mouth, Brandon had kicked off his light shoes.
Swivel, who could not be taught strict quarter deck manners, followed the young officer’s example.
“What are you about, you young limb o’ Satan?” demanded Mr. Coffin, catching hint at this.
“Ef he goes, I’m goin’ an’ you ain’t goin’ ter stop me, Mr. Coffin,” announced the gamin. “I’m in dis!”
“Behave yourself,” Brandon commanded, quickly knotting a light, strong cable about his waist, while Mr. Bolin fastened a life preserver beneath his arms. “One is enough.”
“Den I’m de one!” the boy declared vehemently, and dodging Mr. Coffin’s outstretched arm, he seized a second coil of rope, one end of which was fastened to a ring in the deck, and ran to the stern of the steamer.
“Come back here!” roared the first mate angrily. “I’ll rope’s end you, you little scamp!”
“You’ll have ter do it when I get back from dat wreck!” returned the boy, with an impish grin, and the steamer having now forged ahead of the laboring brig, and Brandon being all ready, the fearless Swivel also dropped over the rail, and clinging with one hand a moment, let go simultaneously with his friend and patron.
Brandon tried to send him back, but it was too late then. The first wave seized them in its embrace and they were carried far out from the steamer’s stern.
The cork belt kept the young second mate above the waves, but even with this assistance, he found himself much less able to cope with the heavy seas than was his companion.
Swivel dived through the rollers like a gull, keeping faithfully by his friend’s side; and had it not been for the street gamin, Brandon afterward declared that he should never have reached the wreck alive.
He had no idea how furious the waves were until he was among them, battling for his life, and trying to reach the distant brig.
It was a terrific struggle, lasting perhaps not five minutes, but a few more seconds would have completely exhausted him.
A great wave suddenly swept them directly under the brig’s bows. Swivel seized Brandon’s hand with one of his own and with the other grabbed a rope trailing over the rail of the wreck.
Fortunately the other end of the rope was securely fastened, and with an almost superhuman effort Swivel raised Brandon until the second mate of the whaleback could grasp the rail.
In another moment Brandon was aboard the brig, and had pulled Swivel over the rail after him.
“Wot—did—I—tell—ye?” gasped the gamin, whose spirit no amount of danger could quench. “Two heads is better’n one, ef one is a cabbage head. Where’s de girl?”
But Milly was already creeping forward to their position on her hands and knees.
“How can you take me back?” she asked at once, her voice sounding as firmly above the gale as though danger was the farthest of anything from her thoughts.
Then she recognized Brandon.
“You?” she exclaimed, in surprise. “I never thought of you being on that steamer.”
“I didn’t forget what you did for me,” Brandon said in reply. “I’d have risked a good deal more than this for you.”
“You couldn’t risk any more,” she declared firmly; “for you’ve risked your life.”
Meanwhile Swivel was signaling to those on the steamer to attach a heavier cable to the one tied about his waist. This was done in a short time, and then all three of the endangered ones laid hold and pulled the cable in, hand over hand.
It was hard work. The heavy rope was wet and unmanageable, and the strain on their young muscles was terrible.
Milly worked as unceasingly as did the two boys, but the cable came across the tossing waves but slowly.
“Where are the crew—where is your father?” asked Brandon.
The girl’s face worked pitifully at this question.
“Father is dead,” she sobbed, “and the crew took to the boats while I was below. That was early this morning.”
“And you’ve been here alone ever since!” said Brandon pityingly.
At that instant there was a slight exclamation from Swivel, and the small cable by which they were endeavoring to gain the larger one, came in over the rail with fearful suddenness.
All three were sent sprawling on the deck.
“What is it?” gasped Milly.
“The rope’s parted,” cried Brandon in horror.
“Never mind; don’t you give up, missy,” Swivel exclaimed. “We’ve got anoder rope yet. Where’s de end o’ dat rope you had tied ’round you, Brandon?” he demanded.
Brandon only groaned.
“Where is it?” shrieked the other lad, fairly shaking him in his impatience.
“I cast it loose,” was the disheartening reply. “It is gone!”