Blacker grew the night, wilder the billows, and louder the voice of the storm. No boat that was ever built could live much longer in such a sea. The wave crests were constantly breaking over the dory's gunwale, forcing Ben to bail continually.
"She can't stand this much longer," said Ben, despairingly, as the dory rose on an awful sea, and he felt for a moment the full force of the gale. But what was the ghostly red glare which suddenly shone into Ben's white face through the gloom? What but the side-light of the brig Calypso, hove to on the starboard tack! And as a wild cry rose to the boy's lips, the dory was swept with terrible force against the black hull of the vessel itself, shattering the frail craft as though it had been made of egg-shell china.
Clutching frantically at the brig's smooth slippery sides as he was swept past, Ben's fingers grasped one of the iron chain-plates of the main-channel, as the brig sank in the trough of the sea. Seizing its fellow with his other hand, he clung to it with a death-grasp. As the brig began slowly to rise on the great slope of black water towering above her, Ben summoned all his remaining strength. Half scrambling, half climbing, he pulled himself up on the weather-rail; from thence he was thrown inboard by a lurch of the brig, at the very feet of Captain Bob Adams. Captain Bob, who had been reared in the navy, was not only a cool man, but also a thorough disciplinarian. Ben's appearance was so sudden, and unexpected that Captain Adams took him for one of his own crew who had violated the rules of sea etiquette in coming aft on the weather-quarter, which is sacred to ship's officers alone. And as the boy scrambled to his feet, Captain Bob's energetic words surprised him even more than the fact of his own strange deliverance.
"But I couldn't help it, sir," shouted the bewildered Ben (for between the roar of wind and sea, one could hardly hear himself think), wiping the spray from his eyes; "I was laying to in my dory by a drag, and she drifted foul of the brig."
"Oh," replied Captain Bob, who was never known to express surprise at anything, "that was it, eh? Well, go below, and the steward will give you some hot coffee. Go to loo'ard, too," he roared, as Ben proceeded to obey.
The steward, who was a colored gentleman, grumbled at the order, but of course dared not refuse. And after Ben had swallowed a pint or so of the invigorating fluid, and got into a dry shirt and trousers furnished by the second mate, he began to feel perfectly at home. He found that the brig was from Bangor, Maine, bound to Savannah, in ballast.
"And likely enough it will moderate by to-morrow, so I can put you on board some in-bound fisherman," said Captain Bob, who, despite his gruff voice, was one of the kindest-hearted men in the world. But the mercury kept falling in the barometer, and the wind, suddenly veering round into the northeast, blew harder than ever before morning, and by daybreak there was nothing left but to "scud" before the heaviest gale that had visited our coast for years. Under a fore storm-stay-sail, close-reefed foretopsail and main stay-sail, the Calypso sped over and through the storm-tossed sea at a rate which made Ben hold his breath.
"You'll, have to make the voyage with us, youngster, whether or no," said the Captain, grimly, and Ben only nodded.
If his mother could have known of his safety, he would rather have enjoyed the novelty of the situation, for Ben was a born sailor. But there was no help for it, and he accepted the situation with the best possible grace. It is an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the equinoctial gale blew them clear by stormy Cape Hatteras before it was fairly exhausted. Then came the strong but steady breathings of the trade-wind to fill the Calypso's every sail. And ten days later, as Mrs. Buttles was dropping hot tears on some rusty bits of crape with which she was trimming her Sunday bonnet, she was nearly thrown into convulsions of joy by the receipt of a telegram reading thus:
"Savannah, October 28, 187-.