"Not a doubt of that," agreed Donald; "but here we are, almost alongside the Brigand."
The boys gazed up at the towering sides of the big yacht, at her glittering brass work, and crowds of white-jacketed sailors gazing over the side curiously. Astern a big bronzed man leaned over the rail gazing down with equal interest. Rob recognized him instantly from pictures he had seen of him in the papers, as Junius P. Grant, the "Wall Street King," as he was called.
He greeted them with a wave of his hand.
"Welcome to the Brigand, young men," he hailed in a hearty tone; "you have the Boy Scout idea to thank for your lives. Had my lad there been five minutes later we'd have been too late to save you."
"That's true enough, sir," hailed back the ensign; "we all thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your prompt relief work."
"The best thanks you can give me will be to come on board at once and get washed up and partake of the best the Brigand can provide," was the pleasant reply.
"Yes; get on board, quick," urged Donald, as the gangway was lowered and the boatmen shipped their oars, "you look about all in."
"We look like a lot of tramps, I guess you mean," laughed Rob, but for all that he felt a bit ashamed of their appearance. They were covered with grime from their fire-fighting experiences. Loss of sleep, hunger, and exposure had drawn their cheeks and reddened their eyes. Altogether, they looked very unlike the trim crew that had set out from the Derelict Destroyer Seneca only a comparatively short time before.
As soon as they arrived on board, they were turned over to the steward, who provided them with quarters in which to spruce up. Everything on the Brigand was appointed as luxuriously as could be possible. This fact rather added to the boys' embarrassment. But when half an hour after their arrival they gathered about a splendidly appointed luncheon table, their embarrassment turned to positive bashfulness. Never had any of them felt so out of place. The ensign alone retained his self-possession.
It was not till Mr. Grant had tactfully interested them in relating their adventures, that they forgot their self-consciousness and ate and drank during the narrative, like famished wolves—or Eagles.