“Thank God, we’ve got him!” ejaculated. Mr Rawlings, the solitary passenger on board the Susan Jane.
By this time, the waif from the wreck was towing safely alongside the Susan Jane, in the comparatively smooth water of the ship’s lee; and in a few seconds the rough seamen who went to their captain’s assistance had detached the seemingly lifeless form of the survivor from the spars to which he had been securely lashed, and lifted him, with the gentleness and tender care almost of women, on board the vessel that had come so opportunely in his way.
“Slacken off those lee braces a bit, and haul in these to the weather-side!” said the captain, as soon as he had got back to his proper place on the poop again. “I think the wind is coming round more aft, and we can lay her on her course. Keep her steady. So!”—he added, to the man at the wheel. “But easy her off now and then, if she labours.”
And then he went below to the cabin, down to which the rescued sailor had been carried, and where the mate, Mr Rawlings, and the negro steward, were trying to bring him back to life by rolling him in blankets before the stove.
Story 1—Chapter II.
Rescued.
“Waal, how’s the man getting on now?” asked the skipper as he entered the cuddy.
“Man?” said Mr Rawlings, looking up on the captain’s entrance. “It isn’t a man at all. Only a lad of sixteen summers at best.”