Captain Tom now manœuvred the “Rocket” alongside of the floating coat. The straw hat was also recovered and pulled aboard.
“They’re his—both the hat and the coat!” cried Moddridge, in shaking accents. “See, here are even letters belonging to Delavan in this pocket!”
The nervous one never looked nearer to swooning than he did at that moment. He tried to rise, but would have tottered backward had not Joe Dawson caught him and steadied him.
“Easy, sir. You’ll best keep your wits now, all of ’em,” counseled Joe, quietly. “If there’s any work to be done, you’ll have to direct it, you know.”
With Joe’s aid Eben Moddridge reached the rail. Then Joe brought a chair and Mr. Moddridge sat down.
“You can’t see the—the—poor Delavan?” fluttered Moddridge, in the greatest agitation, as he stared out over the waters.
“We haven’t sighted Mr. Delavan as yet,” Captain Tom replied. “But you may be sure, sir, we’re going to make a most thorough search.”
“Prentiss, help me below,” begged Moddridge, his face still ashen white and his teeth chattering. “I—I can’t stand any more of this.”
Indeed, the poor fellow’s looks fully bore out his words as Jed helped him below.
“Put him in a berth,” Tom murmured after them. “Better stay with him for the present, Jed.”