"Molly!" I cried, in anguish of soul.
She heard this time—thank God!—for there was an immediate answering long-drawn cry of: "Dad-dee!" from the bows. We rowed quickly in that direction and saw a huddled shape drop from the rigging and run along the deck like the shadow of a little old man. I fired, missed the brute, and heard a sudden scream of terror from Molly as it rushed on all fours towards her.
"Jump!" I bellowed.
Another cry from the bows, the sudden appearance of a slight, girlish figure on the deck rail, a splash, a bump as our canoe struck the ship's side—and Molly was saved!
With my own hands, I hauled her in—surely the most precious burden that a man ever landed from the dark, mysterious sea.
"Daddy!" she wept, as she clung to me in her dripping clothes. "Oh! I am glad you were here!" And then, with a swift dismissal of all thought of her own plight: "Where's Captain Morgan?"
Without waiting for a reply, she raised her hands, cup-shaped, to her mouth.
"Captain Morgan!" she called. . . . "Here we are!"
No answer. But as we strained our ears for some sound of life on the dark and silent vessel which loomed above us, we heard a thud and the muffled curse of a man in difficulties. Then something hard and metallic struck the mast and fell to the deck with a crash.
Thrusting the canoe away from the ship's side, I shouted again: