“Lemme do it, Brandon—I mean Mr. Tarr. I kin swim like a fish.”
“Nobody shall go but myself,” the boy declared, with emphasis. “I won’t suggest a perilous undertaking and not be the one to carry it out.”
“Cap’n Tarr right over again,” Caleb muttered.
Then he turned suddenly upon his young second officer.
“Kick off your shoes, lad, and try it. If it’s the Lord’s will that you accomplish it, well and good; if you can’t, we’ll haul you back. Quick, now! I’ll order Mike to go ahead full speed.”
Before the words were scarcely out of the captain’s mouth, Brandon had kicked off his light shoes.
Swivel, who could not be taught strict quarter deck manners, followed the young officer’s example.
“What are you about, you young limb o’ Satan?” demanded Mr. Coffin, catching hint at this.
“Ef he goes, I’m goin’ an’ you ain’t goin’ ter stop me, Mr. Coffin,” announced the gamin. “I’m in dis!”
“Behave yourself,” Brandon commanded, quickly knotting a light, strong cable about his waist, while Mr. Bolin fastened a life preserver beneath his arms. “One is enough.”