“Will we ever weather this terrible storm?”

It was a half-grown lad who flung this despairing question out; the wind carried the sound of his voice off over the billows; but there came no answer.

A brigantine, battered by the tropical hurricane sweeping up from the Caribbean Sea, was staggering along like a wounded beast.  Her masts had long since gone by the board, and upon the stump of the mizzen-stick a bit of canvas like a goose-wing had been spread in the useless endeavor to maintain steerageway.

All around, the sea rose and fell in mountainous waves, on which the poor wreck tossed about, as helpless as a cork.

Though the lad, lashed to some of the rigging that still clung to the temporary jury mast, strained his eyes to the utmost, he could see nothing but the waste of waves, the uplifting tops of which curled over, and were snatched away in flying spud by the furious wind.

Darry was the cabin boy of the Falcon, having sailed with Captain Harley now for several years.  The old navigator had run across him in a foreign port, and under most peculiar conditions.

Hearing a boyish voice that somehow struck his fancy, raised in angry protest, followed by the crack of a whip, and much loud laughing, the skipper of the brigantine had pushed into a cafe in Naples.

Here he discovered a small, but sturdy lad, who had apparently been playing a violin for coppers, refusing to dance for a big brute of a sailor, an Italian, who had seized upon his beloved instrument.

When the boy had made an effort to recover the violin the bully deliberately smashed it on the back of a chair.

Then, laughing at the poor little chap’s expressions of grief as he gathered up the pieces tenderly in his arms, the brutal sailor had seized upon a carter’s whip, and cracking it loudly, declared that he would lay it over the boy’s shoulders unless he mounted a table and danced to his whistling.

It was then that the big mariner strode in and stood between the lad and his cowardly persecutors.

When good-hearted Captain Harley heard the boy’s pitiful story, and that he was a waif, having been abandoned some years before by an old man with whom he seemed to have been traveling, he offered to befriend him, and give him a chance to see something of the world as cabin boy on the good old brigantine, Falcon.

This offer the little chap had eagerly accepted, for he believed he must be of American birth, and somehow longed to set foot on that land far across the sea.

Some years had passed.

Darry knew no other home save the friendly cabin of the brigantine, and since he had no knowledge as to what his name might be, by degrees he came to assume that of his benefactor.

During these years the boy had seen much of the world, and learned many things under the guidance of the warm-hearted captain.

Of course he spent many bitter hours in vain regrets over the fact that there was so little chance of his ever learning his identity ­only a slender link seemed to connect him with that mysterious past that was hidden from his sight; and this was a curious little scar upon his right arm just below the elbow.

It looked like a crescent moon, and had been there ever since he could remember.

This fact caused Darry to believe it might be the result of some accident that must have occurred while he was yet a baby.

If such were the case then some people, somewhere, would be apt to recognize this peculiar mark if they ever saw it again.

Captain Harley had always encouraged him in the belief that some happy day he would surely know the truth.

Just now, however, it really looked as though Darry need no longer allow himself to feel any anxiety on that score.

The ocean depths would offer just as easy a resting place to a nameless waif as to a crowned monarch.

When the great waves broke over the drifting vessel the rush of water must have swept him away, only that he had been wise enough to lash himself to the stump of the mizzen-mast.

During a little lull in the tempest someone joined him, also using the whipping rope-ends to secure his hold.

Darry saw by the aid of the darting lightning that it was his good friend, the captain; and with his thoughts still taken up with the peril of his situation he repeated the question that only the mocking winds had heard before: 

“Will we ever weather this storm, captain?”

“I fear not, my lad,” replied the master of the ship, sadly, “the poor old hulk is now only a plaything for the elements.  It looks as though the Falcon had reached the end of her voyaging at last.  Twenty years have I commanded her.  I have a feeling that if so be she goes down I will not survive her.”

The roar of the gale was such that it became necessary to shout at times, in order to make one’s self heard above the elements.

“Are we near the coast?” asked the boy, anxiously; for he knew that such a thing must double their danger.

“I am afraid it is only too true, though the storm has been so prolonged that I have long ago lost my reckoning,” replied the mariner.

“But you told me these coasts are patrolled by brave life savers, who always stand ready to risk everything in case a vessel is driven on the reefs?” continued the boy, trying to see a gleam of hope through the gloom.

“That is true, but alas!  I am afraid even the bravest of men would find themselves helpless in such a terrific blow as this.”

“But, captain, surely you have not given up all hope?” anxiously demanded Darry, trying to face the terrible prospect with a brave heart.

“I never do that, lad.  But one of us may not live to reach the shore; and since it is so, I wanted to have a few last words with you, and then I must return to my duty, which is to try and steer this drifting hulk until the end comes.”

He reached out his hand.

The boy eagerly clutched it, and there, as the lightning flashed, he looked into the kind face of his benefactor.

Something seemed to tell him that it was the last time he would ever feel the pressure of that friendly hand, and this thought alarmed him as the storm had thus far been unable to do.

“Listen, and take heed, my lad,” said the skipper, earnestly, “it may be that Providence will shield you through this time of trouble, and that you shall reach the shore in safety after all.  Should ill befall me I want you to write my old mother up in York State ­you know where she lives.  I have made all preparations, so that she will be provided for, and my sister also.  Do you understand me?”

“Oh! yes, sir!  But I hope we may both pull through!” cried the boy, earnestly.

“So do I, for life is sweet; but it may not be.  Now, lad, about yourself, and I am done.  Remember all that I have taught you.  Then you will grow up to be a true man.  And continue to search for some evidence of your people.  That mark on your arm may be of great value to you some day.  Hark!  I fancied I caught the sound of the breakers just then!  It is possible that the time has come for us to part.  Good bye, my boy, and God bless you whatever betide!”

Another fierce pressure of the hand, and Captain Harley was gone.

Standing there, filled with horror and dismay, Darry caught a last glimpse of his guardian staggering across the wet deck, and then the gloom forever hid him from view.

The days would come, and the days would go, but always must he remember that the last thought of the noble captain was for him.

He strained his hearing to ascertain whether the captain’s fears were well founded, and it was not long before he too could catch the awful pounding of the seas upon the half-submerged reefs.

The helpless brigantine was drifting slowly, but surely to her fate; for there was hardly a place along the whole American coast more dangerous than this, which had in times past proved a graveyard for many noble ships.

Among the tangled rigging was a broken spar, and to this Darry lashed himself, in the faint hope that if it were swept ashore he might still cling to life.

He awaited the impending crash with his heart cold within his breast; for after all he was but a lad, and the strongest men might have viewed the catastrophe with a sickening sense of dread.

Then came a fearful shock, as the brigantine was smashed down upon the jaws of the reef by a mighty force.

After that the seas had her for a plaything, rushing completely over her as if in derision.

Three times the boy was almost drowned by the flood that poured across that slanting deck, and he knew that if he remained there longer his time had surely come.  It would be better to cut loose from the mast, and trust his fortunes upon the breast of the next giant wave that, if it were kind, would carry him well over the rocks, and head him for the distant beach.

It was in sheer desperation that he seized upon his sailor’s knife and severed the ropes that thus far had held so securely.

Then he awaited the coming of the next comber with set teeth, and held his breath.

A few seconds and it was upon him.

This time the spar, as well as the clinging lad, went sweeping over the side of the vessel, and carried safely above the reef, started in toward the beach on a roller that seemed gigantic.

The spray was in his eyes, so that he could hardly see at all, but at that moment Darry thought he glimpsed a light somewhere ahead; and what the captain had told him about the gallant life savers flashed into his mind.

Somehow, it seemed to give the despairing boy renewed hope.

Perhaps these brave men were watching for the coming of just such flotsam from the wreck, which they must have sighted when the lightning flashed; and would find some means for plucking him out of the raging sea.