Five minutes more and the captain, a jolly English tar, red in face and round in figure, came down, with a loud voice and cheering manner, to welcome his treasure-trove.
"Well, my hearty, so this is how I find you, eh? Soused in brine. Why, I hear they had to hang you up by the heels to let the water run out of your mouth. Come, Stanny, my boy, this won't do."
"Uncle Barto!"
"The same: master of the steamship Burlington Castle, deep in deals—timbers for huts—and other sundries, now lying in Balaclava, waiting to be discharged. But, my dearest lad, you've had a narrow squeak. Tell me, how did it happen, and when?"
"I fell overboard, and I've been all night in the water: that's all."
He did not choose as yet to make public his suspicions as to the real origin of his nearly fatal accident.
"I always said you had nine lives, Stanny, only don't go using them up like this. There's not a tom-cat could stand it."
"Were you out in the gale, uncle?"
"Ay; and weathered it. At dawn, after the first puff, I knew we'd have a twister, so I got up steam and regularly worked against it. Made a good offing that way, and when the storm abated came back here. We were close in when we picked you up on a log."
"It was a providential escape," said Stanislas, thankfully. "I thought it was all over with me."