“Luff!” said the skipper. “Man the main-braces, some of you, and stand by to heave the main-yard aback.”
Captain Blyth then sprang upon a hen-coop, and peered eagerly out ahead.
“I see him!” he eagerly exclaimed at last. “Back your main-topsail. Luff, my lad; luff and shake her! So, well there with the main-braces, belay all; and stand by fore and aft with your ropes’-ends. Look out, for’ard there; now heave! Missed him, by all that’s clumsy! Try you, the next man. Missed again; line not long enough. Steady, men, steady, or you’ll lose him yet. Now, look out, Ned, my lad! Heave, boatswain, and let us see what you can do. Well hove! Pay out the line, pay out smartly—ha! lost it. Tut! tut! this will never do. Well done! he has it this time! Let him slip it over his shoulder; that’s well. Now haul in—handsomely, my lads—and mind you don’t lose him.”
Half a minute more and poor Ned, gasping for breath, speechless, and too exhausted to stand upright, was dragged triumphantly up over the side and seated on the deck, where, of course, all hands instantly crowded around him. Doctor Henderson, however, promptly interfered, and, taking charge of the patient, was soon able to pronounce that, barring exhaustion, the poor fellow was all right; upon which the anxious little crowd dispersed, Sibylla retiring to her state-room, locking herself in, and gaining relief to her overwrought feelings by abandoning herself to a perfect tempest of hysterical tears.
Under the doctor’s skilful treatment Ned was soon sufficiently restored to answer a few questions, when he stated that though he had remained continuously on the watch from the moment of his rising above the surface after his first plunge to almost the moment of his being picked up, he had never caught a single glimpse of the mate, and that it was his impression the unfortunate man must have been hurt in his fall, and that he had never risen above water again. Notwithstanding this statement the ship was kept hove-to for another half-hour, with a man on the look-out on each topgallant-yard; when, nothing having been seen of the missing man during that time, Captain Blyth reluctantly gave up the search, and, wearing round, the ship once more proceeded on her voyage.
Chapter Six.
The springing of the Mink.
The deplorable fatality mentioned in the last chapter necessitated a further rearrangement of the official duties on board the Flying Cloud; Ned being advanced still another step and made acting chief-mate, or “chief-officer” as it is the custom to dub this official in the merchant service, whilst another apprentice—a very quiet, steady young man named Robert Manners—was promoted to the post of second-mate thus rendered vacant. Although these two posts—the most important and responsible in the ship next to that of the master—were now filled by two young men whose united ages fell short of forty years, the arrangement appeared to work in the most thoroughly satisfactory manner. The lads performed their onerous duties efficiently; the crew were as orderly and obedient as heretofore, and not a single sinister omen or indication manifested itself to arouse anxiety in the mind of the skipper. To add to Captain Blyth’s satisfaction, the island of New Amsterdam was sighted and passed on the morning of the tenth day succeeding the loss of the unfortunate Mr Willoughby, and that, too, in a direction and at an hour which precisely verified the prediction of the captain, who rather prided himself upon his skill and accuracy as a navigator.