The Antelope was low in the water. The deck was near the level of the sea. Instinctively, Tom, who was holding the rail, pushed away, and the boat moved off a little distance. Yet they could not leave those two infatuated men to their fate, though the instinct of self-preservation made them thus move away slightly.
“Captain! Solomon! Captain! Solomon! Make haste! O, make haste!” Such were the cries that now came from those in the boat.
Captain Corbet smiled as before, and nodded, and said,—
“O, it’s all right; all right. Don’t mind me. I’m all right. I know what I’m about.”
At this the Antelope gave a very unpleasant roll, and settled heavily on one side; then her bows sank down, and a big wave rolled over it.
“She’s sinking!” cried Tom, in a voice of horror. The other boys were silent. They seemed petrified.
But the Antelope struggled up, and gradually righted herself. Her deck was nearer the level of the sea than ever. This last incident, however, had been sufficient to shake the nerves of one of those two on board. As she settled on one side, Solomon sprang back, and, as the wave rolled over her bows, he gave one jump over the side and into the sea. He sank under, but a moment afterwards his woolly head emerged, and he struck out for the boat. There a dozen arms were outstretched to save him, and he was finally hauled in.
“Drefful times dese,” said he, as his teeth chattered, either from terror or from cold. “Drefful times. Didn’t ’gage in dis yer vessel to go swim-min about de Atlantic Oceum. Queer way to serve as cook—dis yer way. An dar ain’t a dry stitch ob clothin about—dat’s so; an what ebber I’se a goin to do beats me. S’pose I’se got to set here an shibber de next tree weeks. Catch me ebber a ’barkin aboard sieh a schooner as dis yer. Any ways, I ain’t goin to sail in dis yer Antelope agin. Cotch me at it—dat’s all.”
But the boys heard nothing of this.
All their attention was now taken up with Captain Corbet.