Our mate heard his own heart beat, as he became satisfied
of the actual condition of the wreck, and of the physical
certainty that existed of its sinking, at least to
the point last mentioned, ere the sun came to throw
his glories over the last view that the sufferers
would be permitted to take of the face of day.
It appeared to him that no time was to be lost.
There lay the dim and shapeless object that seemed
to be the boat, distant, as he thought, about a mile.
It would not have been visible at all but for the perfect
smoothness of the sea, and the low position occupied
by the observer. At times it did disappear altogether,
when it would rise again, as if undulating in the
ground-swell. This last circumstance, more than
any other, persuaded Harry that it was not a rock,
but some floating object that he beheld. Thus
encouraged, he delayed no longer. Every moment
was precious, and all might be lost by indecision.
He did not like the appearance of deserting his companions,
but, should he fail, the motive would appear in the
act. Should he fail, every one would alike soon
be beyond the reach of censure, and in a state of
being that would do full justice to all.
Harry threw off most of his clothes, reserving only
his shirt and a pair of light summer trowsers.
He could not quit the wreck, however, without taking
a sort of leave of Rose. On no account would he
awake her, for he appreciated the agony she would
feel during the period of his struggles. Kneeling
at her side, he made a short prayer, then pressed
his lips to her warm cheek, and left her. Rose
murmured his name at that instant, but it was as the
innocent and young betray their secrets in their slumbers.
Neither of the party awoke.
It was a moment to prove the heart of man, that in
which Harry Mulford, in the darkness of midnight,
alone, unsustained by any encouraging eye, or approving
voice, with no other aid than his own stout arm, and
the unknown designs of a mysterious Providence, committed
his form to the sea. For an instant he paused,
after he had waded down on the wreck to a spot where
the water already mounted to his breast, but it was
not in misgivings. He calculated the chances,
and made an intelligent use of such assistance as could
be had. There had been no sharks near the wreck
that day, but a splash in the water might bring them
back again in a crowd. They were probably prowling
over the reef, near at hand. The mate used great
care, therefore, to make no noise. There was the
distant object, and he set it by a bright star, that
wanted about an hour before it would sink beneath
the horizon. That star was his beacon, and muttering
a few words in earnest prayer, the young man threw
his body forward, and left the wreck, swimming lightly
but with vigour.
Jacktier.
CHAPTER I.
The night has been unruly: where
we lay,
Our chimneys were blown down: and,
as they say,
Lamentings heard i’ the air; strange
screams of death;
And prophesying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion, and confused events,
New hatched to the woful time.
