The sailor-lad did not remain longer on the top of the mast than just to
satisfy himself that what he saw were his companions, still afloat and
alive. They were not at such a distance neither as to render it
altogether impossible for them to recover their lost way; and,
stimulated by this hope, little William determined upon continuing his
efforts to assist them.
Gliding back upon the planks of the raft, he laid hold of the detached
oar; and once more plying it as a paddle, he endeavoured to propel the
_Catamaran_ up the wind.
It is true he made but slight progress in this direction but he had the
satisfaction of knowing that the craft held her ground, and something
more; as he could tell from the fact of the casks last set loose by him,
falling a little to leeward. This showed that he must himself be making
way to the windward.
The sea-chest and the cask first loosed from its lashings, had been
launched long before any of the others,--for it was only after an
interval of reflection that he had set free the rest,--and the former
were now far to windward. When looking from the masthead he had noted
that the position of the swimmers was not so far beyond the kit; and it
was scarce possible at that time, that they could have failed to
discover it. Without staying to consider whether they had done so or
not, William had come down from his perch; and now that he had reapplied
himself to the oar, and saw that he was gaining ground in the right
direction, he did not like to desist. Every fathom he made to windward
was a fathom nearer to the saving of the lives of his companions,--a
stroke less for the swimmers to make,--to whom, wearied as they must now
be, the saving of even a single stroke might be an object.
With this thought urging him to perseverance, the sailor-lad stuck to
his oar, wielding it with all the strength in his arms, and only
thinking of the one purpose,--to make way against the wind. Fortunately
the breeze, already gentle, seemed each moment to grow gentler,--as if
unwilling to oppose his efforts in the cause of humanity; and little
William perceived, to his great gratification, that the casks already
passed by the _Catamaran_ were falling far into her wake. This proved
that he must be gaining upon the others.
All at once a glad sight came suddenly under his eyes. Earnestly
occupied with the oar, he had permitted more than a minute to elapse
without casting a glance ahead. When at length he renewed his lookout
to windward, he was surprised to see, not only the cask and the
sea-chest still nearer but on the top of the latter, a something that
was not there before. Something that lay along the lid, with arms
stretched downwards, and hands clutching its projecting edges. He also
perceived two dark rounded objects in the water,--one near each end of
the chest,--one rounder and blacker than the other, but both easily
distinguishable as the heads of human beings.
The singular tableau was at once understood. Lilly Lalee was on the top
of the sea-kit; Snowball and Ben Brace were flanking it, one at each
end. The chest was supporting all three. Hurrah! they were saved!
Little William, at that moment, felt certain they would be saved; though
that joyful certainty had not yet been communicated to them. Standing
erect upon an elevated part of the raft, the boy had the advantage of
them, and could note every movement they were making, without being seen
by them.
He did not spend much time in merely looking at them. He knew that that
would be of no avail; and after giving utterance to one or two joyous
ejaculations, he returned to the oar, if possible plying it with greater
energy than ever, from the renewed encouragement which he now derived
from the confidence of success.
When he turned again and stood upright, looking to windward, the tableau
had changed. Lilly Lalee was still lying along the lid of the chest,
but only one head was seen in the water! It was that of the sailor, as
the white face and the long flowing hair told him.
Where was the cranium of the sea-cook? Where was the skull of Snowball?
Gone with his body to the bottom?
These interrogatories flashed across the brain of the lad, causing him a
feeling of alarm. It was of short continuance, however. In the next
moment they were answered, and to his satisfaction. The Coromantee was
seen astride of the cask, more conspicuous than ever: only, being now in
a slightly different direction, he had not been seen at the first
glance.
Without shouting, or making any other idle demonstration, the
intelligent youth once more applied himself to the oars, and vigorously
propelled the raft to windward.
He did not again desist, until a voice falling upon his ear and,
pronouncing his name, caused him to look once more in the direction of
the swimmers.
Then, instead of seeing the Coromantee astride of the cask, he perceived
the round black physiognomy of that individual above the surface of the
water, and scarce a cable's length from the _Catamaran_!
A double line of frothy ripple proceeding from each of his large spread
ears, and running rapidly into his wake, indicated the direction in
which he was swimming,--towards the raft,--while his eyeballs showing
fearfully, and white as the froth itself,--the spluttering and blowing
that proceeded from his thick lips, and the agitation of the sea around
him,--all told that he was doing his very best to come up with the
_Catamaran_.
"Golly!" he gasped out, on perceiving himself within safe distance of
being heard. "Row dis way, lilly Willy! Row like de debbil, good lad!
I'se most done up,--dat I be. In de space ob anoder cable length dis
chile he muss a gub up!"
And ending his speech with a loud "Whugh," partly to clear the water
from his throat, and partly to express the satisfaction he felt at the
near prospect of deliverance, he continued to strike on towards the
raft.
In a few seconds more the long-protracted struggle was brought to a
termination. Snowball succeeded in reaching the raft, and, assisted by
the sailor-lad, clambered aboard.
Only staying to catch a little breath, the negro laid hold of the second
oar; and the _Catamaran_, under the double stroke, was soon brought _en
rapport_ with the sea-chest; when the remainder of the crew were
restored to her decks, and delivered from a death that but a short time
before had framed so certain as to be inevitable.