All the while valuable time was being lost. Harry was by this time some distance astern. He had succeeded in reaching the plank, and was clinging to it.
“Poor lad!” said Tom Patch, brushing a tear from his eyes with his large and horny hand, and he breathed an anathema against the captain, which I cannot record. “He’s bound for Davy Jones’s locker, as sure as my name’s Tom.”
There seemed little chance for our hero. With nothing but a plank between him and immediate destruction, alone in the vast ocean, without a particle of food or drink to sustain him, the question of “sink or swim” seemed little in doubt.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE CAPTAIN AND THE SUPERCARGO.
When Harry was so treacherously thrown overboard by Jack Rodman, the supercargo was not on deck. He had been attacked by a violent headache, which had caused him to go below and “turn in,” in the hope of obtaining a little sleep. In this he at length succeeded, and when Harry’s life was placed in jeopardy he was fast asleep. He did not wake up for an hour or more. Feeling refreshed he got up and went on deck. He looked round as usual for Harry, but did not see him. His attention, however, was drawn to Tom Patch, who, good, honest fellow, every now and then raised his rough hand to his eyes to brush away a tear.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked the supercargo, for he had observed the rough sailor’s partiality for Harry, and this had inclined him favorably towards him.
“Is it you, Mr. Weldon?” said Tom, in a subdued tone. “I wish you’d been on deck an hour ago.”