“He isn’t dead any more than I am!” added a juvenile tar, springing into the main rigging, as if to demonstrate the amount of his own vitality.
The waif in the bateau had produced this sudden change of sentiment, and given this welcome relief to the crew of the Young America, by rising from his reclining posture, and standing up in the water at the bottom of his frail craft. He gazed with astonishment at the ship and the other vessels of the squadron, and did not seem to realize where he was.
“Avast, fourth cutters!” interposed the first lieutenant. “Belay, all!”
If the waif was not dead, it was hardly necessary to lower a boat to send to his relief; at least not till it appeared that he needed assistance.
“Boat, ahoy!” shouted Ryder.
“On board the ship,” replied the waif, in tones not at all sepulchral.
“What are you doing out here?” demanded the first lieutenant.
“Will you come on board the ship?”
“Yes, if you will let me,” added the stranger, as he picked up a broken oar, which was floating in the water on the bottom of his boat.