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Jack Pendleton had been sent up to the masthead on some duty by the mate. The captain’s roving eyes fell upon him, and the dislike he felt for the boy found vent.

“What are you doing up there, you young lubber?” he shouted.

“Mr. Holdfast sent me,” answered Jack.

“You lie!” roared the captain. “I’ll teach you to lie to me!”

“I’ll come down, sir,” said Jack, “if you say so.”

“I’ll bring you down!” shouted the captain, furiously, as he deliberately pointed the pistol at the cabin boy, and prepared to pull the trigger.

There was a cry of horror on the part of the passengers as they saw the insane act of the captain, and realized the peril of poor Jack. But, in spite of all, the boy would probably have fallen a victim to the drunken fury of Captain Hill. Jack himself fully understood his danger, and his ruddy face turned pale. His life hung in the balance, and was saved only by the courage of his boy friend, Harry.

Of all the passengers, Harry stood nearest to the captain. When he saw the pistol pointed at Jack, he did not stop to think, but made a bound, and dashed the weapon from the captain’s hand. It was discharged but the bullet sped over the rail and dropped into the ocean. Nor did Harry stop here. He seized the fallen pistol, and hurled it over the side of the vessel.

The captain was for the moment stupefied by the suddenness of the act. Then, in a voice of fury, he exclaimed, pointing to Harry: “Put that boy in irons!”

CHAPTER XI
A SENSATIONAL SCENE

“Put that boy in irons!” repeated Captain Hill, his eyes blazing with anger.

Not a sailor stirred. There was not one that did not admire Harry’s promptness, which had saved Jack’s life, and prevented the captain from becoming a murderer.

“Here, you two men, seize the boy, and carry him below!” exclaimed the captain, addressing Brown and Higgins, the two sailors nearest.

The two men looked at each other, moved a step forward, and then stopped.

“Is this mutiny?” roared the captain, with a bloodcurdling oath. “Am I master in my own ship or not?”

What might have been the issue is hard to tell, had not the Yankee passenger already referred to, Jonathan Stubbs, come forward and taken up the gauntlet.

“Look here, cap’n,” he commenced, in a drawling tone, “what’s all this fuss you’re kickin’ up? You’re kinder riled, ain’t you?”

“Who are you that dare to bandy words with me? Men, do you hear me? Put that boy in irons, or must I do it myself?”

“Look here, cap’n, let’s argy that matter a little,” said Stubbs. “What’s the boy to be put in irons for?”

“For grossly insulting me, and defying my authority.”

“He has prevented your committing murder, if that’s what you mean. You ought to thank him.”

“Take care, sir!” thundered the captain, “or I may put you in irons, also.”

“I reckon you might find a little opposition,” said the Yankee, quietly. “I’m a passenger on this vessel, Captain Hill, and your authority doesn’t extend to me.”

“We’ll see about that, sir,” said the captain, and he grasped Stubbs by the collar.

Now, the Yankee was not a heavy man, but he was very strong and wiry, and, moreover, in his early days, like Abraham Lincoln, he had been the best wrestler in the Vermont village in which he was born. He was a very quiet, peaceable man, but he was accustomed to resent insult in an effective way. He wrenched himself free by a powerful effort; then, with a dexterous movement of one of his long legs, he tripped up the captain, who fell in a heap upon the deck. The shock, added to the effects of his intoxication, seemed to stupefy the captain, who remained where he fell.

“Boys,” said Stubbs, coolly, to the two sailors, who had been ordered to put Harry in irons, “hadn’t you better help the captain into his cabin? He seems to be unwell.”

Just then the mate came on deck. He didn’t make inquiries, but took in the situation at a glance, and assisted the captain to his feet.

“Shall I help you downstairs, sir?” he asked.

The captain silently acquiesced, and the prime actor in this rather startling scene left the deck.

Jack Pendleton scrambled down from his elevated perch with the agility of a cat. He ran up to Harry, and grasped his hand with evident emotion.

“You have saved my life!” he said. “I will always be your friend. I would lay down my life for you.”

“It’s all right, Jack,” said Harry, rather shyly. “You would have done the same for me.”

“Yes, I would,” answered Jack, heartily, “But there’s no one else who would have done it for me.”

“Are you going to leave me out, my boy?” asked the Yankee, with a smile on his plain but good-natured face.

“No, sir,” responded Jack. “You stood up to the captain like a man. He didn’t frighten you.”

“No, I wasn’t much scared,” drawled Stubbs, contorting his features drolly. “But, I say, young man, I’ve got a piece of advice to give you. You don’t seem to be much of a favorite with the captain.”

“It doesn’t look so,” said Jack, laughing in spite of the danger through which he had passed.

“Just you keep out of his way as much as you can. When a man gets as full as he does, he’s apt to be dangerous.”

“Thank you, sir; I will.”

Among the spectators of the scene just described, the most panic-stricken, probably was Montgomery Clinton, the Brooklyn dude.

After the captain had gone below, he walked up to Harry, whom he regarded with evident admiration.

“I say, you’re quite a hero. I was awfully frightened, don’t you know, when that big bully aimed at the sailor boy.”

“You looked a little nervous, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry, smiling.

“You were awfully brave, to knock the pistol out of his hand. I don’t see how you dared to do it.”

“I didn’t stop to think of danger. I saw that Jack’s life was in danger, and I did the only thing I could to save him.”

“I’m glad you’re not put in irons. It must be awful to be in irons.”

“I don’t think I should like it, though I never had any experience. You’d have stood by me, wouldn’t you, Mr. Clinton?”

Clinton was evidently alarmed at the suggestion.

“Yes, of course,” he said, nervously; “that is, I would have gone down to see you on the sly. You wouldn’t expect me to fight the captain, don’t you know.”

Harry could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea of the spindle-shaped dude resisting the captain; but he kept a straight face as he answered:

“I look upon you as a brave man, Mr. Clinton. When I get into trouble, I shall be sure to call upon you.”

“Oh, certainly,” stammered Clinton. “But I say, Mr. Vane, I hope you’ll be prudent; I do, really. Captain Hill might shoot you, you know, as he tried to shoot the sailor boy just now.”

“If he does, Mr. Clinton, I shall expect you to interfere, You are not as strong as the captain, but a bold front will go a great way. If you threaten to—to horsewhip him, I think it might produce an effect upon him.”

“Really, my dear Mr. Vane,” said Clinton, turning pale, “I don’t think I could go as far as that.”

“I thought you were my friend, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry, reproachfully.

“So I am, but I think you are, too—too bloodthirsty, Mr. Vane. It is best to be prudent, don’t you know. There’s that Yankee, Mr. Stubbs; he would do a great deal better than I. He’s stronger, and older, and—you’d better speak to him, don’t you know.”

“A very good suggestion, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry.

“I am afraid I should fare badly,” thought our hero, “if I depended upon Clinton to stand by me. He isn’t of the stuff they make heroes of.”

Twenty-four hours passed before Captain Hill reappeared on deck. Meanwhile Harry had received congratulations from all the passengers on his display of pluck, and from some of the sailors besides. In fact, if he had not been a sensible boy, he might have been in danger of being spoiled by praise. But he answered, very modestly, that he had only acted from impulse, actuated by a desire to save Jack, and had not had time to count the consequences.

“I’ll stand by you, my lad,” said Hirman Stubbs. “The captain may try to do you wrong, but he will have somebody else to reckon with—I won’t see you hurt.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stubbs,” said Harry, heartily. “I know the value of your help already. Mr. Clinton also is willing to stand by me, though he says he don’t want to get into a fight with the captain.”

“Clinton! That spindle-legged dude!” said Stubbs, exploding with laughter. “My! he couldn’t scare a fly.”

Harry laughed, too. He could not help doing so.

“He seems a good fellow, though not exactly a hero,” he said. “I am glad to have his good will.”

“He is more of a tailor’s dummy than a man,” said Stubbs. “I always want to laugh when I look at him. Hist! there’s the captain.”

Harry turned quickly toward the companionway, and saw Captain Hill set foot on the deck. A glance satisfied him that the captain was sober.

CHAPTER XII
A STORM

Captain Hill must have observed Harry and Mr. Stubbs, but walked by them without notice, and attended to his duties, giving his orders in a sharp quick tone. He was an experienced seaman, and thoroughly fitted for the post of chief, when not under the influence of liquor.

“I am glad to see that the captain is sober,” said Stubbs, in a low voice.

“So am I,” answered Harry.

One change, all noticed in Captain Hill. He became silent, reserved, morose. His orders were given in a quick, peremptory tone, and he seemed to cherish a grudge against all on board. Some captains add much to the pleasure of the passengers by their social and cheery manners, but whenever Captain Hill appeared, a wet blanket seemed to fall on the spirits of passengers and crew, and they conversed in an undertone, as if under restraint.

Between the captain and the mate there was a great difference. Mr. Holdfast had a bluff, hearty way with him, which made him popular with all on board. As an officer, he was strict, and expected his orders to be executed promptly, but in private he was affable and agreeable. The sailors felt instinctively that he was their friend, and regarded him with attachment, while they respected his seamanship. If a vote had been taken, there was not one but would have preferred him as captain to Captain Hill.

Thus far—I am speaking of a time when the Nantucket was three months out—there had been no serious storm. Rough weather there had been, and wet, disagreeable weather, but the staunch ship had easily overcome all the perils of the sea, and, with the exception of Montgomery Clinton, no one had been seriously alarmed. But one afternoon a cloud appeared in the hitherto clear sky, which would have attracted no attention from a landsman. Mr. Holdfast observed it, however, and, quietly calling the captain, directed his attention to it.

“I think we are going to have a bad storm, Captain Hill,” he said. “That’s a weather breeder.”

The captain watched the cloud for a moment, and then answered, quietly: “I think you are right, Mr. Holdfast. You may give your orders accordingly.”

The sails were reefed, and the vessel was prepared for the warfare with the elements which awaited it.

The little cloud increased portentiously in size. All at once a strong wind sprang up, the sea roughened, and the billows grew white with fury, while the good ship, stanch as she was, creaked and groaned and was tossed as if it were a toy boat on the wrathful ocean.

The passengers were all seriously alarmed. They had never before realized what a storm at sea was. Even a man of courage may well be daunted by the terrific power of the sea when it is roused to such an exhibition.

“Harry,” said the professor, “this is terrible.”

“Yes, indeed,” answered the boy, gravely.

It became so rough and difficult to stand on deck, on account of the vessel being tossed about like a cockleshell, that Harry felt constrained to go below.

As he passed the cabin of Montgomery Clinton, he heard a faint voice call his name.

Entering, he saw the dude stretched out in his berth, with an expression of helpless terror in his weak face.

“Oh! Mr. Vane,” he said; “do you think we are going to the bottom?”

“I hope not, Mr. Clinton. Our officers are skillful men. They will do all they can for us.”

It was a terrible night. None of the passengers ventured upon deck. Indeed, such was the motion that it would have been dangerous, as even the sailors found it difficult to keep their footing. Harry was pale and quiet, unlike his friend from Brooklyn, whose moans were heard mingled with the noise of the tempest.

It was about three o’clock in the morning when those below heard, with terror, a fearful crash, and a trampling of feet above. One of the masts had fallen before the fury of the storm, and the shock made the good ship careen to a dangerous extent. What happened, however, was not understood below.

“I wonder what has happened,” said the professor, nervously. “I think I will go up and see.”

He got out of his berth, but only to be pitched helpless to the other end of the cabin.

“This is terrible!” he said, as he picked himself up.

“I will try my luck, professor,” said Harry.

He scrambled out of his berth, and, with great difficulty, made his way upstairs.

One glance told him what had occurred. The crippled ship was laboring through the sea. It seemed like a very unequal combat, and Harry might be excused for deciding that the ship was doomed. All about the sea wore its fiercest aspect. Harry returned cautiously to his cabin.

“Well?” said the professor.

“One of the masts is gone,” answered the boy. “The ship is having a hard time.”

“Is there danger?” asked the professor, anxiously.

“I am afraid so,” said Harry, gravely.

At length the night wore away. The violence of the storm seemed to have abated, for, after a time, the motion diminished. More enterprising than the rest of the passengers, Harry resolved to go on deck.

“Won’t you come with me, Mr. Clinton?” he asked.

“I—I couldn’t, ‘pon my honor. I’m as weak as a rag. I don’t think I could get out of my berth, really, now.”

“I’ll go with you, my young friend,” said Mr. Stubbs.

Harry and his Yankee friend set foot cautiously on deck. The prospect was not reassuring. The ship rolled heavily, and from the creaking it seemed that the timbers of the hull were strained. The sailors looked fagged out, and there was a set, stern look on the face of the captain, whom, nevertheless, Mr. Stubbs ventured to accost.

“What’s the prospect, captain?” he asked.

“You’d better make your will,” said the captain, grimly.

“That’s cheerful,” commented Stubbs, turning to Harry.

“Yes, sir,” answered Harry, soberly.

“Don’t tell our foppish friend below, or he’ll rend our ears with his howls. But you, my young friend, it’s rather rough on you. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“And I’m rising fifty. Even if I am taken away, I’ve a good thirty years the advantage of you. I’ve had a good time, on the whole, and enjoyed myself as well as the average. Still, I don’t quite like going to the bottom in the Nantucket. I was looking forward to at least twenty years or so more of life.”

“We must submit to the will of God,” said Harry.

“You are quite right, my boy! It is easy to see that you have been well trained. Mr. Holdfast”—for they had reached the place where the mate was standing—“shall we outlive the storm?”

“It is hard to say, Mr. Stubbs. It depends on the stanchness of the ship. We’ll do all we can.”

Ten minutes later there was a sinister answer to the inquiry of Mr. Stubbs. A sailor, who had been sent down into the hold, came with the information that the ship had sprung a leak.

Then commenced the weary work at the pumps. The sailors were already worn out with fighting the storm under the direction of the captain and mate, and it seemed almost more than flesh and blood could stand to undertake the additional labor.

Harry and Mr. Stubbs had a hurried conference.

“Can’t we help at this work, Mr. Stubbs?” asked Harry. “The poor men look utterly exhausted.”

“Well thought of, my boy! I am with you. I will speak to the captain.”

But Mr. Holdfast, the mate, chanced to be nearer, and to him Mr. Stubbs put the question:

“Can’t I help at the pumps?”

“And I, too, Mr. Holdfast,” put in Harry.

“I accept your offer with thanks. The men are very tired.”

So Harry and Mr. Stubbs helped at this necessary work, and when the professor and the Melbourne merchant heard of it they, too, volunteered. But Marmaduke Timmins, the valetudinarian, and Montgomery Clinton felt quite inadequate to the task.

Harry found his work tiresome and fatiguing, but he had the comfort of feeling that he was relieving the exhausted sailors, and doing something to save his own life and the lives of his companions.

He caught sight of poor Jack, looking ready to drop.

“Jack, you must be very tired,” he said, in a tone of deep sympathy.

“If I stood still I should drop on the deck fast asleep,” said Jack.

“Can’t you lie down for an hour? I am taking your place.”

Mr. Holdfast coming up at this moment, Harry suggested this to him, and the mate said kindly:

“Jack, my lad, go below and catch a little nap. I will call you when I want you.”

So Jack, much relieved, went below, and, without a thought of the danger, so fatigued was he, fell asleep the moment he got into his bunk, and was not called up for four hours.

After a while they reduced the flow of water, but ascertained that the ship was badly strained, and by no means safe. It was not till the next day, however, that an important decision was reached.

All were called on deck.

“It is my duty to tell you,” said Captain Hill, “that the ship is so damaged by the recent storm that it is liable to sink at any time. Those who choose to run the risk may remain, however. I propose, with such as choose to join me, to take to the boats. I will give you fifteen minutes to decide.”

Excitement and dismay were painted on the faces of all. The ship might be insecure, but to launch out upon the great ocean in a frail boat seemed to involve still greater danger.

CHAPTER XIII
“WHO WILL STAY?”

The decision was a momentous one. It might be death to remain on the ship, but to a landsman it seemed still more perilous to embark on an angry sea in a frail boat.

The passengers looked at each other in doubt and perplexity.

They had but fifteen minutes in which to make up their minds.

The mate stood by, his face and manner serious and thoughtful.

“Mr. Holdfast,” said Mr. Stubbs, “do you agree with the captain that it is our best course to take to the boats?”

“I should prefer to try the ship a little longer. I say so with diffidence, since the captain has a longer experience than I.”

“I don’t think much of your judgment, Mr. Holdfast,” said Captain Hill, in a tone of contempt.

The mate’s face flushed—not so much at the words as the tone.

“Nevertheless Captain Hill,” he said, “I stand by what I have said.”

“Mr. Holdfast,” said Mr. Stubbs, who seemed to speak for the passengers, “if some of us decide to remain on the ship, will you remain with us?”

“I will!” answered the mate, promptly.

“Then set me down as the first to remain,” said Stubbs.

Somehow this man, rough and abrupt as he was, had impressed Harry as a man in whom confidence might be reposed. He felt safe in following where he led.

“I am but a boy,” he said, “but I have to decide for my life. I shall remain with the mate and Mr. Stubbs.”

Quietly Stubbs shook hands with Harry.

“I am glad to have you with us,” he said earnestly. “We will die or live together.”

Next came Professor Hemenway.

“Put me down as the third,” he said. “Harry, we sailed together, and we will remain together to the end.”

“I go in the boat,” said John Appleton. “I have a great respect for Mr. Holdfast, but I defer to the captain’s judgment as superior.”

He went over and ranged himself beside the captain.

“You are a sensible man, sir,” said Captain Hill, with a scornful glance at the mate and the passengers who sided with him. “Mr. Holdfast can go down with the ship, if he desires. I prefer to cut loose from a doomed vessel.”

Marmaduke Timmins, the invalid, looked more sallow and nervous than ever. He had swallowed a pill while the others were speaking, to give himself confidence.

“I will go with the captain,” he said. “My life is likely to be short, for my diseases are many, but I owe it to myself to do my best to save it.”

“In deciding to go with me, you are doing your best, sir,” said Captain Hill.

He had not hitherto paid much attention to Mr. Timmins, whom he looked upon as a crank on the subject of health, but he was disposed to look upon him now with more favor.

At this moment Montgomery Clinton appeared at the head of the stairs. The poor fellow was pale, and disheveled, and tottered from weakness.

“What’s going on?” he asked, feebly. Harry took it upon himself to explain, using as few words as possible.

“Will you go with the captain, or stay on the Nantucket?” asked Harry.

“Really, I couldn’t stand sailing in a little boat, you know.”

“That’s settled, then!” said the captain. “Into the boats with you!”

The sailors and two passengers lowered themselves into the long boat, which was large enough to receive them all, till only Jack Pendleton and the captain remained.

“Get in, boy!” said the captain, harshly.

Jack stepped back, and said, manfully: “I will remain on board the ship, sir.”

While this discussion had been going on, the boat was being stored with kegs of water and provisions, and soon after the sailors began to ply the oars.

The little band that remained looked silently and solemnly, as they saw their late companions borne farther and farther away from them on the crested waves.

“It’s a question which will last longer, the ship or the boat,” said Mr. Holdfast.

“We must work—I know that,” said Mr. Stubbs. “Captain Holdfast, I salute you as my commander. Give us your orders.”

“Are you all agreed, gentlemen?” asked Holdfast.

“We are,” answered all except Montgomery Clinton, who was clinging to the side with a greenish pallor on his face.

“Then I shall set you to work at the pumps. Jack I assign you and the professor to duty first. You will work an hour; then Mr. Stubbs and Mr. Vane will relieve you. I will look out for the vessel’s course.”

“I am afraid I couldn’t pump,” said Montgomery Clinton. “I feel so awfully weak, you know, I think I’m going to die!”

Harry looked out to sea and saw the little boat containing the remnant of their company growing smaller and smaller. A sudden feeling of loneliness overcame him, and he asked himself, seriously: “Is death, then, so near?”

The sea was still rough, but the violence of the storm was past. In a few hours the surface of the sea was much less agitated. The spirits of the passengers rose, especially after learning from the mate that he had been able to stop the leak, through the experience which he acquired in his younger days as assistant to a ship carpenter.

“Then the old ship is likely to float a while longer?” said Mr. Stubbs, cheerfully.

“Not a short time, either, if the weather continues favorable.”

“Captain Hill was in too much of a hurry to leave the vessel,” remarked Harry.

“Yes,” answered Holdfast. “Such was my opinion when I thought the Nantucket in much worse condition than at present. If the captain and sailors had remained on board, we could have continued our voyage to Melbourne without difficulty.

“And now?” said Mr. Stubbs, interrogatively.

“Now we have no force to man her. Little Jack and myself are the only sailors on board.”

“But not the only men.”

“That is true. I think, however, that you or the professor would find it rather hard to spread or take in sail.”

Mr. Stubbs looked up into the rigging and shrugged his shoulders.

The next day Mr. Clinton appeared on deck. He looked faded and played out, but he was no longer the woebegone creature of a day or two previous. Even he turned out to be of use, for he knew something about cooking, and volunteered to assist in preparing the meals, the ship’s cook having left the ship with the captain. Accordingly, he rose in the estimation of the passengers—having proved that he was not wholly a drone.

Jack and Harry grew still more intimate. The young sailor was under no restraint now that the captain was not on board, for with the mate he had always been a favorite.

All efforts were made to keep the ship on her course. They could not put up all the sails, however, and made but slow progress. They did little but drift. Nor did they encounter any other vessel for several days, so that there was no chance of obtaining the desired assistance.

“I wonder where it will all end, Jack?” said Harry, one evening.

“I don’t trouble myself much about that, Harry,” said the young sailor. “I am content as I am.”

“Don’t you look ahead, then?”

“I am happy with you and the few we have on board. They are kind to me; what more do I need?”

“I can’t be contented so easily, Jack. I hope there is a long life before us. Here we are, making no progress. We are doing nothing to advance ourselves.”

But this did not make much impression on Jack. He did not look beyond the present, and so that this was comfortable, he left the future to look out for itself.

“What do you think has become of Captain Hill and his companions, Mr. Holdfast?” asked Mr. Stubbs, on the third evening after the separation.

“He is probably still afloat, unless he has been fortunate enough to be picked up by some vessel.”

“There is no hope of reaching land in the Nantucket is there,” continued Mr. Stubbs.

“There is considerable fear of it,” said the mate.

“Why do you use the word fear?” asked Stubbs, puzzled.

“What I mean is, that we are likely to run aground upon some unknown island. If the shore is rocky, it may break us to pieces, and that, of course, will be attended with danger to life or limb.”

Stubbs looked thoughtful.

“I should like to see land,” he said, “but I wouldn’t like to land in that way. It reminds me of an old lady who, traveling by cars for the first time, was upset in a collision. As she crawled out of the window, she asked, innocently: ‘Do you always stop this way?’”

“There are dangers on land as well as on the sea,” said the mate, “as your story proves; though one is not so likely to realize them. In our present circumstances, there is one thing I earnestly hope for.”

“What is that?”

“That we may not have another storm. I fear, in her dismantled condition, the Nantucket would have a poor chance of outliving it, particularly as we have no one but Jack and myself to do seamen’s work.”

Mr. Stubbs walked thoughtfully away.

Harry, who had seen him talking with the mate, asked him what the nature of the conversation was.

Mr. Stubbs told him.

“The fact is, Harry,” he said, “we are in a critical condition. Whether we are ever to see old terry firmy again”—Mr. Stubbs was not a classical scholar—“seems a matter of doubt.”

“And the worst of it is,” said Harry, “there seems to be nothing you or I can do to increase our chances of safety.”

“No, unless we could manage to see a ship which the chief officer had overlooked. That, I take it, is not very likely.”

It was toward morning of the fifth night after the captain had left the ship that all on board were startled by a mighty thumping, accompanied by a shock that threw the sleepers out of bed.

Harry ran hastily on deck. The mate was there already.

“What’s happened, Mr. Holdfast?” asked the boy, anxiously.

“The ship has struck on a rocky ledge!”

“Are we in danger?”

“In great danger. Call all the passengers. We must take to the boat, for the Nantucket is doomed!”