boatswain’s mate.
“Mr. Pelham will have charge of the boat,” added Captain Kendall, who had great confidence in the zeal and ability of this officer.
“The wreck! The wreck!” shouted all hands, as the disabled galiot came into view.
On the rail of the vessel, whose starboard half was completely submerged in the water, were two men, making violent gestures, and shouting to the crew of the Josephine. Not a word they said could be understood, but it was easy enough for Yankees to guess the meaning of their words. The schooner was thrown up into the wind, the jib lowered, and she lay to under the mainsail. Pelham and the crew of the first cutter took their places in the boat, and were lowered into the stormy sea. The falls were cast off the instant she struck the water; the coxswain gave his orders rapidly, and the cutter went off, rising and falling on the huge waves like a feather.
The distance was short; but even this was a hard pull in such a violent sea. Pelham was cool and steady, and his self-possession encouraged the crew to their best efforts. The boat ran up under the lee of the wreck, and made fast to one of the masts. As soon as it was secured, both of the men on the rail began to jabber in an unintelligible language.
“Parlez-vous français?” shouted Pelham, who had some knowledge of the polite language.
But the men made no response; and it was evident that no long speeches need be made on the present occasion. Pelham made signs to them to come down into the boat, which they did. They were not satisfied, but continued to talk in their own language, and to point earnestly to the after part of the wreck. One of them repeated a word so many times, that the officer of the boat was enabled at last to separate it from the confused jumble of sentences.
“Vrow?” said he.
The man nodded earnestly, and pointed with redoubled vigor to the after part of the galiot.
Vrow means wife; and Pelham concluded that the skipper’s lady was in the cabin, but whether dead or alive he did not know.
CHAPTER III.
SOMETHING ABOUT DIKES.
It was evident to those on board of the Josephine that there was some reason for the delay of the boat in not bringing off the survivors of the wreck. The energetic motions of the men on the disabled vessel could be dimly seen through the mist and rain.
“Hoist the jib, Terrill,” said Captain Kendall. “We will run up to the wreck, and ascertain what the trouble is.”
“Man the jib halyards! Stand by the jib sheet!” added Terrill.
“All ready, sir!”
“Let go the downhaul! Hoist away!” continued the first lieutenant. “Port the helm!”
The mainsail was trimmed, the jib sheet hauled down, and the schooner filled away again. She ran close under the lee of the galiot, just far enough off to clear her masts.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Pelham?” called Terrill through his trumpet.
“There’s a woman in the cabin,” replied Pelham.
“Clear away the gig!” said Captain Kendall, as the Josephine passed out of hailing distance of the wreck. “Mr. Martyn will take charge of the boat.”
The gig’s crew were piped away, and the falls were manned. The second lieutenant stood ready at the gangway to take his place in the boat. The operation of hoisting out a boat was not so difficult and dangerous as it had been when the first cutter went off, for the sea was every moment abating its fury.
“Mr. Cleats and Mr. Gage will go in the boat with a couple of axes,” added the captain, who had been studying the position of the wreck.
The first lieutenant gave the order to the adult forward officers, who presented themselves at the gangway provided with their implements, ready to do the work assigned to them. By this time the weather had begun to clear off, and a streak of blue sky appeared in the west. The low land and the white cliffs and sand hills were seen again; but the coast was different from that which they had observed before the tempest burst upon them.
“Mr. Martyn, you will cut away the masts of the wreck; but first endeavor to save the woman in the cabin,” added the captain, when the crew of the boat had taken their places, and everything was in readiness to lower the boat.
“I will do the best I can,” replied Martyn, as he stepped into the gig.
“If the galiot does not right when the masts are cut away, report to me.”
The boat went off on her mission of mercy, and those left on board of the schooner watched her progress with the most intense interest. All felt that they were not “playing sailor” then, but that the issues of life and death depended upon the exertions of the two boats’ crews.
“Have you any idea where we are, Captain Kendall?” asked Terrill, gazing earnestly at the distant shore, which was now revealing itself with greater clearness.
Paul took a spy-glass and carefully surveyed the shore. Terrill took another glass, and both of them went up into the main rigging, so as to obtain a better view of the shore.
“There are some church steeples near the coast, and farther back there is a great number of them,” said Terrill.
“All right,” replied Paul, as he returned to the deck, followed by the first lieutenant.
“Do you make out the coast?” asked the latter.
“Yes; we are on Thornton’s Ridge. Throw the lead!” replied Paul, with some anxiety, as he took the glass and pointed it in the direction opposite the shore.
“By the mark five!” reported the quartermaster, who was heaving the lead in the fore chains.
“That proves it,” exclaimed Paul. “We are on Thornton’s. The steeples on the shore are Blankenburg, and those farther off are the Bruges steeples. We are about twelve miles to the eastward of the North Hinder, where there is a light-vessel. We have been drifting to the southward. We will tack now, and stand over to windward of the wreck.”
The Josephine went about again, and stood up to the point indicated by the captain. The wind had now subsided to a gentle breeze, and the sea was abating its violence in a corresponding degree. The lead was thrown continually, but not less than three fathoms was indicated at any time. Cleats and Gage, with their sharp axes, were dealing heavy blows at the masts of the galiot, while the crew of the gig and first cutter were clearing away the standing rigging. By the time the schooner reached the position to windward of the wreck, the work had been accomplished. The two boats had backed away from the wreck, and suddenly the hull righted. A few more strokes of the axes severed the shrouds, which could not be reached while the vessel lay upon her side.
Pelham, who was on the deck of the vessel when she righted, rushed to the companion-way, which had been submerged before. He was closely followed by the two men. The cabin was half full of water; but he found there a woman and a young girl of sixteen, who had been clinging for life to an upper berth. The gallant lieutenant plunged up to his middle in the water, and bore the girl to the ladder. At the same time, the older of the men performed a similar service for the woman. He was evidently the husband of the woman and the father of the girl. When he returned to the deck,
