The sea had gone down very much now, and it was therefore a simple matter to embark upon the hatch.
Swivel was made comfortable among the blankets, his two friends hoisted the rule sail, the painter was cast off, and the castaways moved slowly away from the hulk of the Success.
By this time it was quite late in the afternoon. Still there were several hours of daylight left them, for in this latitude the sun does not set very early, even in the spring.
The time which had elapsed since they had first sighted the second wreck had given this latter an opportunity to sail by the Success, for she moved much faster than the water logged brig. The raft, however, wafted along by the brisk breeze, began to overhaul the stranger at once. By the aid of an oar, in lieu of a rudder, Brandon was able, with little difficulty to keep headed toward their objective point.
Milly, who had brought her father’s glass along, as well as the log book of the Success, and all papers of any value belonging to her father, occupied her time in trimming the sail, under Brandon’s directions, and in gazing through the glass at the strange vessel.
Soon the outlines of the latter became quite clearly visible.
“It was a brig like papa’s,” declared the girl, scrutinizing the hull which, although denuded of every inch of spar and rigging, still rode the long swells as though perfectly seaworthy.
“Can you see the stern, Milly?” Brandon asked, in excitement.
“Yes.”
“Is there a name on it? The Swan had her name on the stern?”