The sailor was equally suffering from the loss of the former; and both remained for a good many minutes without taking any further steps towards the accomplishment of the design which had brought them on the back of the whale.
As soon, however, as Snowball could find wind enough for a few words, they were uttered in a tone of gratitude,—first to Ben, who had hindered him from sinking down into something worse than a watery grave; and then to little William, who had aided in raising him up from it.
Ben less regarded the old comrade whom he had rescued than the young one who had been instrumental in aiding him.
He stood gazing upon the youth with eyes that expressed a lively satisfaction.
The promptitude and prowess which his protégé had exhibited in the affair was to him a source of the greatest gratification.
Many a boy old as he,—ay, older, thought Ben Brace,—instead of having the sense shown by the lad in promptly running to the rescue, would have remained upon the raft in mute surprise; or, at the best, have evinced his sympathy by a series of unserviceable shouts, or a continued and idle screaming.
Ben did not wish to spoil his protégé by any spoken formula of praise, and therefore he said nothing: though, from his glances directed towards little William, it was easy to see that the bosom of the brave tar was swelling with a fond pride in the youth, for whom he had long felt an affection almost equalling that of a father.
After indulging a short while in the mutual congratulations that naturally follow such a crisis of danger, all three proceeded to the execution of the duty so unexpectedly interrupted.
William had succeeded Snowball in that simple culinary operation which the latter, commanded by his captain, had so suddenly relinquished.
The lad now returned to the raft, partly to complete the process of broiling the fish; but perhaps with a greater desire to tranquillise the fears of Lilly Lalee,—who, ignorant of the exact upshot of what had transpired, was yet in a state of unpleasant agitation.