Ben Boltrope was one of the first to stand out; but Mr Meldrum at once motioned him back.
“You must not go,” said he. “I shall want your carpentering aid very soon, and can’t spare you.” It was the same with some others amongst the hands, Mr Meldrum picking them out as they stepped forwards.
Before long, however, a crew was selected; when, the jolly-boat being run down into the water by the aid of a dozen other willing hands, besides her own special crew, she was soon on her way back to the scene of the wreck of the Nancy Bell—McCarthy steering her, and Frank Harness, who would not relinquish his privilege of going in her after having been the first to volunteer, pulling the stroke-oar, no idlers being wanted on board. Kate looked at him and waved her hand in adieu as the boat topped the heavy rolling waves and got well out into the offing; and, after that, Frank did not mind what exertion he had to go through.
It was a long pull and an arduous one, although, in spite of Mr McCarthy’s warning to the contrary, there was nothing dangerous in the accomplishment of the feat. The first mate had probably felt a little lazy when he endeavoured to set Mr Meldrum at first against the expedition, for after a couple of hours’ hard work, having the tide to contend with most of the way, they easily managed to approach the reef and bring up the boat under the vessel’s stern, where the side ropes and slung chair, which they had omitted to remove on board the raft remained just as they had left them, swinging about to and fro as the wind brushed by, causing them to oscillate with its breath.
On climbing up to the deck, they found the poop pretty much the same, but the forward portion of the ship had all broken to pieces, hardly a timber being left, save part of the forefoot or cut-water, which had got jammed in between the rocks along with the anchor-stock, the heavy mass of iron belonging to which must have fallen down below the surface when the topgallant forecastle was washed away.
Going down into the cuddy, Frank could hardly at first believe that its former tenants had quitted it for good and all, for the cabin doors were thrown wide open, and dresses and other articles of feminine attire scattered about—one special shawl of Kate’s, which he readily recognised as the one she had on her shoulders the night they had watched the stars together in the South Atlantic, being placed over the back of the captain’s chair at the head of the table, as if the owner had just put it down for a minute and was coming back to fetch it. He at once took charge of this, besides collecting sundry other little articles which he thought Kate might want; but he was soon interrupted in his quest of feminine treasure-hunting by a mewing and scratching at the door of the steward’s pantry, which made him recollect all at once what had been the ostensible object of his mission on board the vessel.
“Gracious goodness!” he exclaimed, speaking to himself, for Mr McCarthy was busy raking amongst his clothes in his own cabin, also oblivious to the fate of the poor feline for whom they had come aboard the ship. “I almost forgot the cat after all. Puss, Pussy, poor Puss!” and he wrenched open the pantry door, setting the animal free.
If ever mortal cat purred in its life, or endeavoured to express its pleasure and satisfaction by walking round and rubbing itself against a person, raising and putting down its fore-feet alternately, with the toes extended, as if practising the goose step or working on some feline treadmill, why that cat did then. The poor animal could not speak, of course, but it really seemed to utter some inarticulate sounds that must have been in cat language a paean of joy and praise and thanks at its deliverance; and, finally, in a paroxysm of affection and endearment, it turned itself head over heels on the cabin floor in front of Frank.
“Poor Puss; poor little thing!” said the young sailor, taking it up in his arms. “I believe I would have come back for you even if it hadn’t been to oblige Kate—my darling!” and he kissed the fur of the animal as he held it in his arms, as if he considered it for the time being her deputy.
Judging by several well-picked bones that could be noticed lying on the deck of the pantry, Frank assured himself that Puss had not been starved since she had been locked up; and, indeed, she could not have been in any serious want, as there was a freshly-cut ham on one of the shelves and a round of spiced beef, which she had not touched, both of which Frank took the liberty of appropriating for the benefit of those on shore.