The men––that is, a few of them––might joke, but were all glad to be getting in. There’s no fun staying wet and getting wetter all night long. If it wasn’t for the wetness of a fellow it would have been great, for it was the finest kind of excitement, our running to harbor––that night––especially in the morning when we were passing three or four and nobody passing us. We went by one fellow––the Martinet she was––a fair enough sailer––passed her to windward of course, 97 our gang looking across at their gang and nobody saying a word, but everybody thinking a lot, you may be sure. It was worth a square meal that.
With the Martinet astern, the skipper let her pay off and run for the end of the Breakwater. For a while he let the wind take her fair abeam, with sheets in, and the way she sizzled through the water was a caution. There was a moment that an extra good blast hit her that my heart sank, but I reflected that the skipper knew his business, and so tried to take it unconcernedly. Everybody around me was joking and laughing––to think, I suppose, that we would soon be in.
A moment after that I went down to leeward. The sea was bubbling in over her rail at the fore-rigging and I wanted to get the feel of it. I got it. It is pretty shoal water on the bar at the mouth of the Delaware River and quite a little sea on when it blows. One sea came aboard. Somebody yelled and I saw it––but too late––and slap! over I went––over the rail––big boots and oilskins I went down into the roaring. For a second my head came up and I saw the vessel. Everybody aboard was standing by. The skipper was whirling the spokes and the vessel was coming around like a top. I never saw a vessel roll down so far in all my life. I went under again and coming up heard a dull shout. There was a line beside 98 me. “Grab hold!” yelled somebody. No need to tell me––I grabbed hold. It was the seine-boat’s painter. The Johnnie was still shooting and when the line tautened it came as near to pulling my arms out of my shoulders as ever I want to have them again. But I hung on. Then she came up, and they hauled the painter in and gaffed me over the rail.
“You blankety blank fool!” roared Clancy, as soon as I stood up––“don’t you know any better? A fine thing we’d have to be telegraphing home, wouldn’t it? Are you all right now?”
“All right,” I said, and felt pretty cheap.
While being hauled in, knowing that I was safe, I had been thinking what a fine little adventure I’d have to tell when we got back to Gloucester, but after Clancy got through with me I saw that there were two ways to look at it. So I took my old place under the windward rail and didn’t move from there again till it was time to take sail off her.