“Well done? I am done, you mean. I thought I’d let him go. Keep back, some on you—give a fellow room to breathe. That’s better,” came with more freedom. “Now then, give your orders, Mr Poole,” panted the man; “I’ve lost my wind. Get him on his back and pump his into him. That’s your sort!” he continued, as in obedience to the young skipper’s commands two men began to row while the others set to work upon the first aid necessary in the case of a half-drowned man.
“Ah!” sighed the boatswain, now sitting up in the bottom of the boat and shuffling himself aft a little so as to give more room. “I am as weak as a babby. Well done! Pump away, my lads. That’s your sort! Pore chap, he’s all water and no wind now! I dunno what he’d been about. Had he been soaping his feet?—Think he’s coming round, Mr Poole?”
“I hope so,” was the reply. “I am afraid, poor fellow, he must have been half-stunned. Come and look, Butters; I want you to feel his chest.” The boatswain came and leaned over. “Keep it up, my lads. It will be all right soon. Oh yes, his own pump’s going on inside. His kit won’t be for sale. But I don’t believe he’d have taken his trick at the wheel again if I hadn’t gone down and fetched him up.”
“No; you saved his life, Mr Butters,” cried Fitz excitedly. “I never saw anything so brave before. Would you mind—”
“Eh!—What, sir?—Shake hands?—Certainly, sir, hearty, and same to you!”
“Oh!” ejaculated Fitz involuntarily. “I am very sorry, sir. Did I squeege too hard?”
“Why, it was a scrunch,” said the boy petulantly. “But it’s all right now. Your fingers, though, are as hard as wood.”
“Well, they arn’t soft, sir. But hallo! I never shut up my knife.” He closed the keen blade with a sharp snap. “There! Now you see the vally of a lanyard,” he continued, as he thrust the great clasp-knife into the waist-band of his trousers.—“Keep it up, my lads. I’ll take a turn as soon as I’ve got my own wind again. Ah, there’s nothing like a lanyard. If it hadn’t been for that my snickersee would have gone zigger-zagging down through the dark black water disturbing the little jellyfish and lighting the way for a snip, snap, swallow, all’s fish that comes to their net style, to go inside some shark. But I’ve got it safe. It’s a fine bit of Sheffield stuff, and I’ll be bound to say it would have disagreed with him as had swallowed it. Here, somebody—who’s got a match? Mine’ll be all wet. Strike a light, will you; I want to see if he’s beginning to wink yet.”
A match was struck, and as it burned steadily in the still air a faint light was shown from the schooner far, far away.
“See there, my lads? He’s winking his eyes like fun; but go on pumping slow and steady to keep him breathing—mustn’t let him slip through your fingers now. Pull away there, my lads; put your backs into it. My word, there’s a stiff current running here!”