And Jessie and Thora were at my side—­Jessie steering, and Thora holding the rope of the little lug sail.  How did it all come about?

Then Jessie, bidding me lie still, told me in a few words how she and Thora had watched the race between the Curlew and the St. Magnus, standing on the high ground of the Ness point.  They had seen the accident, and had immediately put out together in a little boat that was lying on the beach.  They had rescued me from the upturned Curlew, where I lay in a faint, and were now making for the Lydia.

“Have they saved father?” I asked.

But the girls did not know.  They had not seen anyone picked up by the St. Magnus.

“Where is Carver’s boat now?” I inquired; and feeling my strength return to me somewhat, I raised myself up and sat on the seat at the stern beside my sister, while Thora went forward to the mast to be in readiness to lower the sail.

We were now, as I could see, only a few fathoms distant from the Lydia, which was lying athwart the stream, thus breaking the force of the current, and making it possible for us to draw up alongside.  The St. Magnus was already there, having, as I afterwards found, given up the search for the unfortunate crew of the Curlew.  Carver Kinlay was aboard on the quarterdeck engaged in an altercation with the skipper, who stood at the gangway.

“Heave us a rope, captain!” cried out Jessie; and Thora caught the line that was thrown down, while I helped her to draw our boat to the ship’s side.

My clothes were still very wet in spite of the warm sun; but, with some difficulty, I got up the barque’s side and joined Captain Gordon at the gangway.

“Have any of our men been saved?” I asked.  “My father, is he—?”

But I saw by the skipper’s downcast face that the worst had happened.  I turned to Kinlay: 

“Did you not pick up any of them?” I inquired.

“It was no use,” said he sullenly.  “We could save none of them.”

“You might very well have done so if you’d been more prompt,” said Captain Gordon.  “I saw two of the poor men above water when you turned to come back.”

“Why did ye not send out a boat yerself, then?” said Kinlay.

“Because I have none, except the lifeboat there.  We lost the others in the storm.  But it was little use my thinking of launching a heavy lifeboat when you were afloat there at hand.”

“Well, well, it couldn’t be helped,” said Kinlay.  “It was their own fault they were capsized, and there’s no use talking.  Put your helm to starboard, skipper, and let’s get you into port.”

“Is this man a pilot, Ericson?” asked Captain Gordon, turning to me.

“No,” I said; “I believe he has not yet taken out his license.  He started piloting two days since in opposition to my father.”

Kinlay scowled almost savagely at me for saying this.  But I knew very well that he was not a fully qualified pilot, whatever he might become, now that my father was drowned.  He lost much of his swaggering manner, however, and was very quiet when Captain Gordon ordered him off the ship.