CHAPTER XXXIV
THE INCIDENTS OF A NIGHT OF PERIL
NIGHT was shutting down over the face of the storm tossed ocean—night of the blackest and wildest description. Already the outlines of the steamer ahead were scarcely visible from the bows of the water logged brig.
By a series of misfortunes (Brandon Tarr bitterly accused himself of causing the crowning mischance of them all) the three unfortunates on the Success were entirely cut off from escape.
“Oh,” cried Milly, in bitterness of spirit second only to Brandon’s own, “you have lost your lives for me—both of you. I am not worthy of it!”
“Don’t ye lose heart, missy,” Swivel declared, with a courage he was far from feeling. “Th’ ship hain’t sunk.”
“No one but God Himself knows how long it will keep afloat, though,” Brandon returned despairingly.
“And the gale is increasing again, too,” added Milly softly.
“This is the last end of it, that’s wot I think,” declared Swivel cheerfully. “It’ll blow itself out now purty soon.”
Brandon could not look at the situation thus hopefully, but he determined to say nothing further to make the girl despair.
Swivel’s tone shamed him into thinking of her rather than of himself.
The men on board the steamer, had ere this discovered what had happened, but they could do nothing to assist the three on the brig.
It was absolutely necessary to keep some headway—considerable, in fact—on the whaleback, to prevent her from swinging around into the trough of the waves. Every moment they were getting farther and farther away from the doomed derelict.
Caleb roared something to them through the trumpet, but the distance and the howling of the gale prevented them from making out what he said. The wind and spray beat upon them alternately as they crouched together in the high bows, and every other sound but that of the elements was drowned.
“Come back in the shelter of the mast,” Brandon shouted at last. “We can do nothing further here. Our position is so exposed that we may be washed off before we know it.”
Each of the boys grasped an arm of the captain’s daughter and with no little trouble they managed to reach the great tangle of rigging and shreds of canvas which hung about the one remaining mast.
The topmast had long since been carried away, but the main spar still defied the storm, writhing and twisting like a thing of life in the fierce grasp of the gale.
Here, crouching under its lee, the shipwrecked boys and girl clung to the stiffened ropes with hands little less stiffened by the cold and water.
As an extra precaution they bound themselves together, and then fastened the same rope to the mast, knowing that a wave might board the lumbering brig at any moment and sweep everything on it that was not fastened, into the sea.
Occasionally, as the wreck climbed heavily to the summit of an enormous roller, they could catch a glimpse of the steamer’s lights; but as the hours dragged slowly on, these became less and less distinct.
Without doubt the whaleback was drawing slowly away from the wreck, and the worst of it was, those on the steamer probably did not suspect it.
The castaways had no means of showing their whereabouts by lights, and the steamer was too far away, and had been since the darkness shut down, for those aboard her to see the outlines of the brig. Therefore Caleb Wetherbee and his officers had no means of knowing that the steamer was traveling nearly two miles to the brig’s one.
Suddenly there was a flash of light from the steamer’s deck, and a rocket went hurtling upwards into the leaden sky, to fall in showers of sparks into the sea. It was a message of hope to the unfortunates on the brig—it was meant as such, at least—but they had no way of replying to it.
“Aren’t there any rockets aboard?” asked Brandon of the captain’s daughter.
“There may be, but I do not know where,” the girl replied; “and the cabin is half filled with water, too.”
“Never mind if it is; I believe I’ll try to find them. There must be something of the kind aboard.”
“Ye’d better stay here,” Swivel warned him anxiously. “I don’t like ter see ye git out o’ sight.”
“Don’t you think I can take care of myself?” Brandon demanded.
“Not alone,” was the prompt reply. “I reckon ’at none of us can’t take very good keer of ourselves in this gale. We’d best not git too fur apart.”
“Well, I’m going to try to get into the cabin,” Brandon added. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
He unfastened the rope from about his waist, and in spite of the objections of his two companions, crept aft toward the cabin companionway.
The feat was not of the easiest, as he quickly found; but once having determined to do it, he would not give up.
The door of the cabin was jammed fast, but after some little maneuvering he was able to force an entrance and descended into the apartment, which was knee deep with water washed in from the heavy seas which had broken over the brig during the day.
There was no means of lighting a lantern, however, and after rummaging about in the darkness for half an hour, he had to return to the deck without having accomplished anything.
As he stepped outside again, he found the brig pitching worse than ever. The gale was full of “flaws” now—a sure sign that it was blowing itself out—but occasionally it would rise to greater fury than it had shown in all the two previous days.
Just as he reached the deck one of these sudden squalls occurred, and a huge green roller swept in over the stern of the brig, and advanced with lightning speed along the deck, sweeping wreckage and all else before it.
Brandon had just closed the door, and by clinging to the handle, was able to keep himself from being washed overboard; but he was almost drowned during the few moments while the wave filled the companionway.
As it passed, there was a sudden crack forward, and even above the shriek of the gale, he heard Swivel’s cry of alarm.
With a rush and roar like the fall of a mighty forest tree, the mast, splitting at the deck, toppled over across the rail.
Brandon uttered a despairing shout, for it seemed impossible for the wreck ever to right herself, the weight of the fallen spar dragged her over so far.
But providentially the mast had split clear off at the deck, and after staggering a moment from the blow, the brig shook off her incumbrance, and came to an even keel again.
But following the falling of the mast came a shriek from Milly Frank which pierced his very soul.
“Brandon! Brandon! Help!”
With that cry ringing in his ears, the boy dashed forward along the slippery deck and reached the spot where he had left his companions.
“Quick! this way!” called the girl’s clear voice, and darting to the rail he was just able to grasp the captain’s daughter and drag her back from the cruel sea.
“Now him!” commanded the girl, and pulling in the line which was still attached to her waist, Brandon drew the form of Swivel out of the waves.
“Oh, he is dead!” cried Milly in agony. “He saved me, Brandon. When the mast fell he cut the rope and took me in his arms and ran, but one of the ropes tripped him up and we were washed to the rail by that great wave.”
“I hope he isn’t dead—oh, I hope not!” Brandon returned, kneeling down beside the motionless boy, and chafing his forehead tenderly.
Milly took one of the poor street gamin’s hands in her own and chafed it likewise.
Probably never before during his miserable, eventful existence had Swivel known such gentleness. His life had been hard indeed, and it looked as though its lamp had gone out now in the performance of a noble and courageous deed.
There on the storm swept deck Milly and Brandon knelt for nearly an hour before the unconscious boy showed the least sign of life.
Then the eyelids fluttered a little and he drew in his breath with a slight sigh.
“He’s coming to!” Brandon exclaimed.
But although poor Swivel opened his eyes once or twice, it was a long time before he seemed to realize where he was or what had happened.
At last he whispered brokenly.
“Don’t—don’t—fret yerself—missy—I’m—I’m goin’ ter be all right.”
“Are you in pain, Swivel?” queried Brandon, having almost to shout to make himself heard.
Milly was crying softly. The strain of the last twenty hours was beginning to tell on even her bravery and fortitude.
“Dret—dretful!” gasped the injured boy weakly.
Brandon had to place his ear almost to his lips to distinguish his words.
“Right—here,” and he laid his hand feebly on his chest.
“That’s where he struck across the rail,” declared Milly, when Brandon had repeated these words to her. “Oh, the poor fellow has been hurt internally. Do you think the morning will ever come, Brandon?”
“I’m afraid it will come very soon for him, poor boy,” replied Don meaningly, and there were tears in his own eyes.
Swivel had closed his eyes and a strange, grayish pallor was spreading over his drawn features.
His hearing seemed wonderfully acute, however. He heard the word “morning” at least, and his eyes flew open again and he struggled to raise himself on his elbow.
“Is it morning now?” he asked feebly.
“No, no,” replied Brandon soothingly. “Not yet, Swivel. Don’t exert yourself. Lie down again.”
The injured youth strove to speak once more, but suddenly fell back upon the rude pillow Don had made of his coat, and a stream of blood flowed from his lips.
Milly uttered a startled gasp, but Brandon hastily wiped the poor fellow’s lips, and after a moment the hemorrhage ceased.
But they looked at each other meaningly. They had lost all hope now of the shock not proving fatal.
While they had watched Swivel, the gale, as though at last satisfied with its cruel work, had gradually lessened. The wind ceased almost wholly within the next hour, although the waves did not entirely go down.
Swivel lay motionless during all this time, occasionally opening his eyes to gaze up into the faces of his two friends, whom he could see quite clearly, but otherwise showing no sign of life.
Finally he attempted to speak again.
“It’s—it’s hard—on me—ain’t it?” he gasped, in Brandon’s ear. “I—I—don’ wanter die.”
His friend did not know what to say in reply to this, but Milly seized his hand and tried to comfort him.
“Don’t be afraid. Swivel,” she said, trying to make her own faith serve for the dying fellow too. “It will be better over there.”
“Mebbee—mebbee they won’t let me come.”
“Yes, you may, if you ask, Swivel. Don’t you love God?”
“I hain’t—hain’t never—heered—much erbout Him,” returned the lad. “I heered the chap at the mission—school talk erbout—erbout Him some. I—I never paid much ’tention.”
His voice was stronger now, but in a moment the blood gushed from his lips again.
“Don’t talk—oh, don’t talk, Swivel?” cried Brandon beseechingly.
“’Twon’t matter—not much,” the boy returned, after a few minutes.
He felt blindly for Brandon’s hand and seized it tightly. Milly, still kneeling on the opposite side, held the other.
“Can’t ye say a prayer, like—like that feller in the mission did—er one o’ them hymns?” he muttered.
The boy and girl crouching above him looked into each other’s faces a moment in silence.
Brandon Tarr might have faced a thousand dangers without shrinking, but he could not do this. It remained for Milly to comply with the poor boy’s request.
After the terrific howling of the gale, the night seemed strangely still now. The hurrying, leaden clouds were fast breaking up, and here and there a ray of moonlight pierced their folds and lit up the froth flecked summits of the tossing billows.
One narrow band of light fell across her pale face as she raised it toward the frowning heavens and began to sing:
“Jesus, Saviour, pilot me,
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal:
Chart and compass come from the Thee:
Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.
“When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
‘Fear not, I will pilot thee’!”
Faintly at first, but mounting higher and clearer, rose the sweet girlish voice, and not only the poor street gamin, but Brandon himself listened entranced.
When the beautiful hymn was finished, Brandon felt that it was a prayer not only for him whose spirit might at any moment depart, but for Milly and himself, who should remain behind at the mercy of the storm tossed sea.