All at once Breeze, from his slight elevation, noted a commotion on the deck of the schooner ahead of them. The men on watch seemed to be heaving lines at something in the water. It was evidently drifting past them, and their lines plainly failed to reach it. They were motioning, as though to attract his attention towards it, and the thought flashed into his mind that perhaps they had discovered a survivor of some wreck floating in the angry waters, and had tried unsuccessfully to save him. He told his companion of what he had seen, and they both watched eagerly in the hope that if it was indeed a man he might drift within their reach. They procured a couple of long light lines, made one end fast, and coiled them carefully, in readiness to be flung at a moment’s notice.
“I see him!” cried Breeze at length. “There, see! off our port bow; but he is going to drift clear of us.”
It was the figure of a man, clad in oil-skins, the yellow gleam of which had caught the boy’s eye as they showed for a moment on the crest of a wave.
As he came near they saw that he was apparently clinging to the bottom of an overturned dory. At the same time it was evident that he was going to drift far beyond their reach, and they doubted if their lines even could be made to reach him. They shouted again and again, but he gave no sign of hearing them.
Breeze began to tear off his oil-skins, then his jacket and boots, and to knot the end of a line about his waist.
“What are you going to do?” shouted his companion. “Not try and swim to him?”
“YOU’RE CRAZY, LAD! YOU CAN’T LIVE A MINUTE IN SUCH A SEA.”
“Yes, I am,” shouted Breeze, in reply. “It would be a pity if the best swimmer in Gloucester should let a man drown before his eyes for want of trying to save him.”
“But you’re crazy, lad! You can’t live a minute in such a sea!” and the man took hold of the boy’s arm to restrain him from the rash attempt.