Slowly the rude craft drew near the hull of the Silver Swan. The brig floated as well as though she had never struck upon Reef Eight, nor been buffeted by the gales of this southern sea for well nigh three months.
The recent storm had done little damage to her deck either, although the rails were smashed in one or two places. Her wheel had been lashed firmly, and strangely enough it still remained so, and now, in this quiet sea, the brig held as even a keel as though she was well manned.
Within two hours of the time the castaways had been assured that the wreck they were nearing was the Silver Swan, the raft came up under her lee rail, and Brandon caught the bight of a cable over a pin on the quarter. Then he leaped aboard himself and made the rope secure.
The rail of the Silver Swan was so much higher above the surface of the sea than that of the sinking Success had been that Brandon and Milly had to fashion a “sling” of the sail, in which to get Swivel aboard. The injured youth bore the pain this must have caused him uncomplainingly and was soon made comfortable on the deck of this, their new refuge.
They did not let the raft float away, although they hoped that they should not need it again, and Brandon even took the precaution of fastening it with a second cable before they started to explore the brig.
The Silver Swan had been almost uninjured by her long journey with no pilot but the fickle winds and currents of the ocean. The masts had, of course, all gone in the first gale, and her crew had cut away every bit of the wreckage before leaving her to her fate on the reef.
The hatches had been battened down and the doors of the forecastle and cabin likewise closed, so that the occasional seas which had washed over her had done little toward injuring the interior.
Leaving Milly to look out for Swivel, Brandon forced open the cabin door (it had swelled badly during the long siege of stormy weather which the brig had withstood) and went below. Naturally everything was in confusion—tables, chairs, and what not overturned; but nothing about the cabin seemed injured.
The cook’s quarters showed a bad state of affairs, however, for there wasn’t a whole dish (except the tin ones) in the place, and the stove lay on its back kicking its four feet in the air as though in its last expiring agonies.
Brandon righted this useful utensil first, and mended the broken pipe as best he could. Then, when he had a fire started in the thing, he went on to examine the smaller cabins or staterooms.