Dick seated himself on the raft, with a spar in his hand which he had prepared. Lower and lower the gallant ship sank. Many of the crew were at the pumps; some were still below, some running to the forecastle, others aft. Dick kept his post. The water rushed in at the ports—the raft floated—a surge carried it overboard, Dick urging it by a shove which sent it far away from the ship’s side.
The Laurel gave one plunge forward—her stern rose in the air—and down she glided beneath the tumultuous waters. One fearful shriek arose of strong men in their agony. Some few attempted to reach the raft, but they were drawn down in the vortex caused by the sinking ship. Dick vigorously plied his paddle, and though tumbled and tossed fearfully about, he got far enough off to escape the danger of being drawn down with the rest. Had he not had Charley to look after, he would have shared the fate of his shipmates, he thought; and so he would, I am sure. Though he was himself frequently under water, and often almost washed off the little raft, the child, protected in the basket, remained nearly dry. As Dick gazed back towards where the stout ship had lately floated, he could see a few struggling forms with arms outstretched, and hear their last cries for help ere they sank for aye, till that awful day when the sea shall give up its dead; and in a few minutes he and little Charley were the only living beings of all the gallant fellows who had formed the crew of the ill-fated Laurel.
Chapter Three.
Dick’s Prayer.
Night had come and passed away since the gallant Laurel had sunk. The sea had much gone down, and Dick, no longer compelled to hold on for his life, was able to open the basket and give Charley, who was crying out for his breakfast, some food.
“Where de ship?” inquired Charley, in his imperfect English and little innocent fashion. “Where we got to? Why not give me hot tea? Why give me wet biscuit?”
“Don’t ask questions, Charley,” answered Dick. “If I have a fancy for taking a cruise on this here raft, you should be content—you know I have charge of you; and if I didn’t think it the best thing to be done, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”
“All right,” said Charley. “More biscuit, please. Now I sing song to you, Dick,” and the little chap struck up the stave of a ditty which Dick had taught him, evidently feeling in no way alarmed at the fearful position in which he was placed.