Close to the dinghy stood little Dan Whiddon, the cabin-boy, shivering with cold and fear.
"Show a leg, now!" cried the Captain to the men who were busy with the dinghy. He turned to the girls, who stood near the companion, huddled in speechless terror. "You must get into the dinghy, my dears," he said gravely; "we have struck a reef. You can scull her, keep her going gently and look out for a passing ship. Don't be alarmed. The sea is smooth, you see. We will make a raft and come after you as soon as we can. My poor old ship is done for."
"Oh! we can't leave you, Uncle," said Elizabeth, with quivering lips.
"No, we won't," cried Tommy, springing forward and clasping his arm.
"Now, my dears," replied the Captain with forced cheerfulness, "you promised to obey orders, you know. We can't save the ship. Water is pouring into her; the one chance is to get you safely afloat while we make a raft. You must go for my sake. There must be land hereabouts; you'll see it when the sun gets up, and I lay you won't be ashore an hour before we join you. Come along now, all's ready."
The Captain's firmness showed that further remonstrance was vain. He led them to the side where the dinghy had been lowered. Elizabeth was helped into it, and as she turned away, after embracing her uncle, she heard the first mate say—
"D'ye think there's room for young Dan, sir? He's no use to us."
The Captain hesitated for a moment. Three was a full complement for the little boat, and even the boy's light extra weight might be a source of danger. Mary, as she kissed her uncle, heard the boatswain growl—
"You may as well drown the lot; the dinghy can't take more than three nohow."
Then Tommy flung herself into her uncle's arms, and sobbed a good-bye.