JACK DISOBEYS ORDERS.

Outlined dimly in the distant gloom was the hulk of the steamer. Her whistle was shrieking hoarsely, now sounding, as the mate guessed, a recall to the rescue boat before darkness closed in.

Jack was a strong, able swimmer, but never had he received such a breath-taking buffeting as fell to his lot in that wild commotion of waters. But with grim determination he fought his way to the ship’s side. Those in the boat saw him gain a foothold on the anchor chains and scramble upward; but they could not guess what a supreme effort of nerve and muscle those last few moments cost him.

As he gained the deck he was compelled, perforce, to cast himself gasping on his face, and so he lay for a space. Then, from the gloom, came a feeble call for help. It nerved him with fresh vim. Among the tangled wreckage he scrambled till he reached the place where the two men were lashed to the bitts.

Thanks to the oil-spread waters, the seas were no longer breaking over the wreck, but the two men who had lashed themselves there to avoid being swept over the side, were too feeble to sever their ties. Jack cut them loose and signaled to the boat. It was brought as close alongside as Mr. Brown dared, and one after the other the two seamen were hauled on board. Last of all came Jack. He secured the rope to his waist as it came snaking toward him from the boat like a lasso, and then jumped outward. As he sprang, he felt the hulk drop from under his feet in a wild yaw.

At the same instant the boy felt himself being drawn under water as if in the grasp of a giant hand that he was powerless to resist. Then his senses left him in a rocketing blaze of light and a roar like that of a hundred water-falls.

When he came to, he was lying on the bottom boards of the boat. From a bottle some stimulant was being administered to him. He sat up and stared about him wildly for a moment, and then saw that they were almost alongside the heaving hull of the tanker.

But of the wreck there was no sign.

“Went to Davy Jones like a plummet,” said Mr. Brown cheerfully, “and almost took you along with her, my lad. We had a fine job hauling you aboard, I can tell you.”

Now came the dangerous task of hauling up the boat of rescuers and survivors. But it was accomplished at last by dint of cool-headed work and seamanship. The two sailors were sent forward to get dry clothing and hot coffee, while the elderly man, who was Captain Ralph Dennis of the wrecked vessel, and his daughter Helen, were cared for in the officers’ quarters aft.

Feeling rather shaky and dripping like a water-rat, Jack hastened to make a change of clothing. By the time this was accomplished, the Ajax was once more on her course. Hardly had he drawn on dry socks before the old bos’n was at the door.

“The skipper wants to see you forward. I rather suspect there’s a storm brewing for you, younker,” was his greeting.

“I’ll be there right away,” said Jack, and having pulled on his boots, he hastened forward. As he went, his heart beat a little faster than usual. What fault had he committed now, he wondered. Jack was a modest youth, but he had suspected praise rather than censure for the part he had taken in the rescue.

The skipper was in the chart-house giving a few directions before he turned in, after an almost continuous twenty-four hours of duty.

He greeted Jack with a frown.

“Ready, who gave you orders to go away in that boat?” he demanded sternly.

“No one, sir, but I thought——”

“You had no business to think. This is not a man-of-war or a passenger boat, but if everyone on board did as they thought best, where would discipline be?”

Jack stood dumbly miserable. He had performed what he thought a meritorious act and this was his reward!

“I did the best I could to help when one of the men hung back, sir,” he said.

The captain’s face softened a bit, but his voice was still stern as he said:

“Mr. Brown was in charge of the boat. He should not have let you go. I blame him more than you. But remember another time that you must do nothing without orders so long as you sail under me. That is all,—and Ready.”

“Sir?”

“I understand you conducted yourself according to the best traditions of American seamanship. I was glad to hear that. Now get along with you and try to relay a message to our owners, telling them of the rescue. If there is another vessel within our range, inform me, as I wish to transfer the shipwrecked men if possible. The craft was bound from Portland, Maine, to the West Indies with lumber, and there is no sense in taking the rescued company all the way across the Atlantic.”

Jack saluted and hastened off on his task. He felt considerably lighter of heart when he left the chart-room than when he had entered it. There had been a gleam of real human sympathy in the captain’s eye. That man of iron actually had a heart after all, and Jack had read, under his gruff manner, a kindly interest in his welfare and esteem for his act in saving the two seamen.

“I’m glad I did disobey orders, anyway,” he said to himself; “if it did nothing else, it has shown the skipper to me in another light than that of a cruel task-master and slave-driver.”

That night Jack succeeded in relaying, through the Arizonian, of the Red B Line, a message to the ship’s owners, telling of what had been done. He also discovered that by noon of the next day they would pass on the Atlantic track,—which is as definitely marked as a well-beaten road,—the Trojan, of the Atlas Line of freighters. He made arrangements with the captain of that craft to transfer the castaways of the Ajax. This done, he informed the second officer, for the tired captain was taking a well-deserved rest, and then turned in himself.

Next morning the gale had blown itself out and the Ajax was pushing ahead at top speed to make up for lost time. Black smoke crowding out of her funnel showed that coal was not being spared in the furnace room. Everyone appeared to be in good spirits, and the late autumn sun shone down on a sparkling, dancing sea. It seemed impossible to believe that only twelve hours before that same ocean had claimed its toll of human lives and property.

Not long before eight bells, the look-out forward reported smoke on the horizon. Jack, who had been in communication with the craft all the morning, knew that the vapor must herald the approach of the Trojan. He sent word forward to the captain by a passing steward, and the castaways were told to prepare for a transfer to the other ship. Before the two crafts came alongside, Captain Dennis had made his way to Jack’s wireless room.

He looked forlorn and miserable, as well he might, for he had lost a fine ship in which he owned an interest.

“How is your daughter coming along?” asked Jack, deeming it best not to dwell on the stricken mariner’s misfortunes.

“Fairly well. We were two days in that gale. It’s a wonder any of us lived. But I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. That was a fine bit of work, and I can’t begin to express my gratitude.”

“We were glad to have happened along in time,” said Jack; but at this moment the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the captain’s daughter. Jack saw with surprise that the bedraggled, white-faced maiden of the day before had, by some magic peculiar to womankind, transformed herself into a remarkably pretty girl of about his own age. She thanked him in a gentle way for his part in the work of rescue, and Jack found himself stammering and blushing like a school-boy.

“The Trojan is almost up to us now,” he said, “and it will be time for us to say good-bye. But I—I wish I could hear some time how you get along after you get ashore.”

“We live in New York,” said the captain, coming out of a sad reverie, “or we did. We’ll have to find new quarters now. But this address will always find me.”

“And here is mine,” said Jack, writing hastily on a bit of message paper. The captain glanced at it and then started.

“Are you any relative of Captain Amos Ready?” he demanded eagerly.

“I’m his son,” said Jack. “I live with my Uncle Toby and——”

But Captain Dennis was wringing his hand as if he would shake it off.

“This is a great day for me, boy, even if my poor old ship does lie at the bottom of the Atlantic and Helen and I will have to start life all over again. Why, Captain Ready and I sailed together many a year, but I lost track of him and he of me. Where is he now?”

Jack sadly told him of his father’s death. Then there was only time for quick farewells and hand-shakings, for an officer came hurrying up to say that the boat was ready to transport the castaways to the Trojan. The two big freighters lay idly on the ocean, bowing and nodding at each other, while the transfer was made. Then the boat returned and was hauled up and the vessels began to move off in opposite directions.

Jack stood at the rail gazing after the Trojan. He waved frantically as the freighter got under way, and thought he caught a glimpse of a white handkerchief being wafted in return. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Raynor. There was an amused smile on the young engineer’s face.

“Pretty girl that, eh, Ready? Pity she couldn’t have made the trip with us.”

“Oh, you shut up!” exclaimed Jack, crimsoning and aiming a blow at his friend’s head.