CHAPTER XVIII
Definitely deciding the big Hun boat would not sink, I let the anchor go, pulled the little lifeboat aboard and plugged the bullet holes, for I knew I would need it.
The Gulf sun was pretty hot and I didn't blame the Boches much when they called for drink and food.
Their cook, a flabby tool scarcely full witted, possessed a craven fear of going into the next world. I released him with a forcible injunction that his first tricky move would send him there instantly. With knocking knees and gibbering to himself, he went about feeding the others.
I saw little Jim moving around on the Sprite, so concluded matters in her quarter were satisfactory. I had to go over there and I felt sure of what I would find. I hesitated, however, for it was a delicate situation. But it could be put off no longer, so I got into the little lifeboat and drew up alongside.
With a grimness of a lion playing with a cub little Jim had coaxed her black-bearded father back, and given him food and dry clothing. Though still very weak he was sitting in the bottom of the boat, leaning against the tiny cabin, evidently pleased with her wheedling and caresses. But when he got a good look at me I thought his eyes would jump from their sockets. At first there was the fierce, savage look of the enraged Georgia Cracker, which as quickly melted into a joyful delight as his memory served him.
Little Jim ran to the side of the Sprite, grasped me by the hand and led me to him. "Daddy, this is Mr. Wood. If he had not come to-day what might have happened!" she exclaimed, manifestly undaunted by the dreadful experience she had undergone.