Captain Carter, with a pale set face, hastened below to ascertain the injuries, but returned in a moment. The lugger was rapidly filling and settling.
"Jack and I will give them a shot to pay for that while the rest of ye get ready the long boat," said the captain, sternly. But it was a fatal delay, for scarcely had Long Tom been sighted e'er in a mad swirl of waters the lugger plunged to her watery grave—down, down, down, dragging, in her deadly, downgoing eddy, captain and crew. Ande had the sound of many waters in his ears, and kicked desperately to free himself of its deadly influence. Then, after an interminable time, to his joy he felt himself going upward, upward and upward. His lungs felt like bursting under the terrible strain. Could he hold out until he reached the surface? He made another desperate downward kick and joy,—his head shot above the surface—but—nothing visible but the dark, tossing waters and the pale stars o'erhead. Stay! There was a dark mass but a yard or so away and a form. He drifted nearer. He shouted and a hand grasped him and drew him up on a floating piece of deck timber.
"Dick."
"Ande."
Two simultaneous shouts, but that was all, as these two friends of school day life floated together on the loosened spar.
Then after a time:
"Didst see the captain or any of the crew?"
"All drowned, no doubt," said Dick.
Then there was more silence. Dick was a famous swimmer, but clung to the spar reserving his strength for the future; Ande was less expert in the swimming art and his wound and exposure was gradually weakening his grasp. It was now past midnight.