“But me, Skipper, me!” appealed every individual one of those left behind.
“No.”
Despite that, “Just me!” a half dozen men with uplifted arms implored the Skipper. “Just me, Skipper, just me!” Most persistent of all was young Gillis. “Just me, and make a good prize crew. That’ll be eight men and myself—nine men all told. Luck in odd numbers. Besides, I’m Sam’s watch-mate, and Sam said he never had a watch-mate like me.”
“H’m— I cal’late that’s right. Just you, then, but hurry.”
Gillis hurried, so much so that instead of dropping aboard the bark he fell into the sea between the bark and the schooner.
He came spluttering to the top. “Heave me a line, somebody!” A dozen lines were hove at him and two draw buckets; one, hitting him on the head, all but drove him under again.
“There’s a fine waste of draw buckets,” commented one of the prize crew ere they had him safe on the bark.
“Oh, but that fire feels good!” chattered Gillis, and took station by the main hatch, where he might heave buckets of water on the fire without removing too far from the heat of it.
It took them the better part of two hours to master the fire. “To the pumps!” said Sam then, and, double-manned by fresh vigorous men, the pumps soon began to lessen the deluge in the hold.