“Keep a good look out, my man, ahead, or we may be running down some of those coasting craft inward bound.”
“Aye, aye, sir, I’m on the watch myself,” sang out Moggridge; but hardly had he given this answer than, all at once, he cried out suddenly in a louder tone, “Hard a-port, hard a-port! There’s something standing across our bows.”
The man at the wheel immediately put the helm up, letting the head of the vessel fall off from the wind; but, at the same instant, there came a sudden crash ahead, followed by a loud yell.
“Gracious heavens!” cried out Captain Miles, rushing forwards to the forecastle, where several of the hands had also hurried on hearing the cry of the boatswain—I going after the captain in my turn to see what was the matter, dreading some fearful disaster.
There were several short and quick exclamations, amidst which I saw, in the dim light, Moggridge in the act of heaving a rope overboard towards some dark object in the water.
“Hooray, he’s got it and has clutched hold!” I then heard somebody say. “The line has fallen just over his shoulders, and he has got the bight of it.”
“Haul him in gently!” cried the captain. “Pull easy—so!”
Next I saw a couple of the seamen bending over the side, and in another moment they helped a dripping figure to scramble on to the deck; when, as I pressed nearer to see who the rescued person was, I heard a well-known voice exclaim, in tones of earnest thankfulness and joy:
“Bress de Lor’, I’se safe!”
It was Jake, the very last person in the world, most certainly, whom I could have expected to meet on board the Josephine, if I had guessed a hundred times!