But he knew what was required of him, and he went up the ladder as nimbly as a monkey, the captain at his heels, neither pausing until they reached a safe point, where they could maintain themselves with comparatively little difficulty for some time.
The trouble was, that if compelled to remain here very long, the driving sleet would so benumb their limbs that they would become unable to maintain their hold. The seamen, although strong and rugged men, had been on deck for twelve hours, and needed to be lashed to make sure of their footing.
But every probability was that not a soul would be left on board at the end of an hour, and this precaution was unnecessary in the case of the two who had last ascended.
It was not until Harry had been perched here for several minutes that he was able to take a survey of his surroundings.
As the chief officer had predicted, they had struck the beach very near the other vessel—less than a hundred feet separated them—and, as the lad looked off in that direction, he saw among the three figures clustered at the bow that of Little Rifle.
Most of the crew of the North Star had also lashed themselves to the rigging, but the bow being much more sheltered than was that of the Albatross, the three persons mentioned were enabled to maintain themselves with little exertion.
The tall dark figure, which Harry supposed to be the father, had placed himself in such a position as to shut off most of the fury of the tempest from his loved daughter.
And Little Rifle, holding on like a heroine, as she was, looked off in the rigging of the other ship, and saw Harry Northend, who was also gazing toward her.
“Does she recognize me?” was the thought in the mind of the lad, as he gazed wistfully at her.
His heart warmed with delight, even at this awful time, when the next moment he saw her raise her hand and wave it toward him. Regardless of his own danger, he returned the salutation, and shouted back, but the sound scarcely reached the ears of the captain, directly below him.