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.