other voices were calling through the night, some of them
comparatively close at hand, others answering faintly from far
in-shore. The boats first launched were evidently landing, and
those in charge of them were shouting directions to the ones
behind. Some women had started singing and the chorus floated out
to the man and the girl:

Pull for the shore, sailor, Pull for the shore.

It helped to drown their cries for assistance.

O'Neil judged that the ship was at least a quarter of a mile from
the beach, and his heart sank, for he doubted that either he or
his companion could last long in these waters. It occurred to him
that Brennan might be close by, waiting for the Nebraska to sink
--it would be unlike the little captain to forsake his trust
until the last possible moment--but he reasoned that the cargo of
lives in the skipper's boat would induce him to stand well off to
avoid accident. He called lustily time after time, but no answer
came.

Meanwhile the girl stood quietly beside him.

"Can't we make a raft?" she suggested, timidly, when he ceased to
shout. "I've read of such things."

"There's no time," he told her. "Are you very cold?"

She nodded. "Please forgive me for acting so badly just now. It
was all so sudden and--so awful! I think I can behave better. Oh!