“You think, then, he will not die?” she said, just raising her voice loud enough to be heard in the tumult.
“He’s worth ten thousand dead boys; he’ll come around all right in a few minutes; but we must get up a fire some way or other or we shall all perish. Dobbins must have got a crack on his head, some way or other, for he’s dead as a door-nail. Well, you watch him while I see what can be done about starting a fire.”
By dint of great effort, sufficient fuel was gathered, and a strong fire was kindled, around which the miserable shipwrecked sufferers gathered, and managed to keep themselves from perishing.
No Indians were to be seen, and, as the high cliffs shut out the view inland, they had strong hopes of escaping this danger.
It was found that two of the seamen had suffered such injuries, that, in spite of all that could be done, they succumbed and died. Wet, cold and hungry, the others could not have been much more miserable than they already were.
The storm rapidly abated, the sun coming out toward noon, and, as they caught sight of a sail in the distance, every thing was done to attract their notice. Captain Cole and a couple of his sailors ascended the cliffs and displayed signals of distress.
Fortunately these attempts succeeded, and about the middle of the afternoon, the ship came in as close to shore as was prudent, and a boat was sent in to bring the shipwrecked crew and passengers off.
The sea was still running very high, but by good seamanship, the task was accomplished without any mishap. The two dead bodies were also brought off, and given a burial from the ship.
* * * * * * *
On the clear, starry night that succeeded the tempestuous one, Harry Northend and Hagar Ravenna, better known as Little Rifle, sat by themselves, conversing over the past and speculating as to the future.