'Yes—yes, let him have the boat;' and Hawkhurst was again overruled.
'Here, Massa Francisco—here de book.'
'What's that, sir?' cried Hawkhurst, snatching the book out of Pompey's hand.
'Him, massa, Bible.' Francisco waited for the book.
'Shove off!' cried Hawkhurst.
'Give me my book, Mr. Hawkhurst!'
'No!' replied the malignant rascal, tossing the Bible over the taffrail; 'he shall not have that. I've heard say that there is consolation in it for the afflicted.'
Francisco shoved off his boat, and seizing his sculls, pushed astern, picked up the book, which still floated, and laid it to dry on the after-thwart of the boat. He then pulled in for the shore. In the meantime the schooner had let draw her foresheet, and had already left him a quarter of a mile astern. Before Francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward.