"I'll shoot the first man that lays a hand on the boats!"
It was Captain Barrington. He stood on the stern deck steadying himself against the rail. In his hands gleamed two revolvers. Beside him stood Captain Hazzard, a look of stern determination on his face. Ben Stubbs and several other seamen, who had not lost their heads, were grouped behind them prepared to quell any onslaught on the boats.
The members of the crew, who had become panic-stricken when the helpless ship encountered the iceberg, paused and looked shamefaced.
"We've a right to save our lives," they muttered angrily.
"And prove yourselves cowards," exclaimed Captain Barrington. "You ought to be ashamed to bear the names of American seamen! Get forward, all of you, and let me see no more of this."
The stern voice of their commander and his evident command of himself reassured the panic-stricken crew and they withdrew to the forecastle. Their shame was the more keen when it was found that, while the Southern Cross had been severely bumped by the iceberg, her stout timbers had sustained no damage.
By daybreak the sea had calmed down somewhat, and the wind had still further moderated. But the danger was by no means over till they could get in communication with the Brutus. Frank was set to work on the wireless and soon "raised" the towing ship, the captain of which was delighted to hear of his consort's safety. The position of the Southern Cross being ascertained, her bearings were wirelessed to the Brutus, and she then cast anchor to await the arrival of the towing ship.
As the line was once more made fast, having been spliced till it was as strong as new, the professor came up to the boys. He looked rather sheepish.
"Would you mind giving me back those papers I gave you last night," he said.
"You mean the last will and testament?" Frank could not help saying.