"He needs rest. He is all worn out. He may have run for miles before he took to the water."
"Can't we give him something? There is some cold tea in the cabin."
"I will get him something," added Dan; and he ran aft and entered the cabin.
He returned in a moment with a bottle and a tumbler. The fugitive still lay upon the deck, panting and groaning like a dying gladiator after the mortal struggle of the arena. Freedom was worth the exertion he had made, though every fibre in his frame had been strained. He had manfully fought the battle, though without the interference of our party he would certainly have lost the day. Dan poured out a tumblerful of the wine which the bottle contained, and placed it at the lips of the sufferer. He eagerly drank off the draught, and sank back upon the deck.
"He will be better soon. He is all out of breath," said Dan, as he brought one of the cushions from the standing room and put it under the poor man's head.
"Gossifus!" shouted Cyd, who still retained his position at the helm, though his interest in the scene of the forward deck caused him to steer very badly. "Hossifus!" added he, in gasping tones; "de dogs! de dogs!"
"What's the matter, Cyd?" demanded Dan.
"De dogs! Dey done eat dis chile all up! Dey won't leabe de ghost ob a grease-spot luff of dis nigger!" cried Cyd, in mortal terror.
"Mind how you steer, then!" replied Dan, hastening to the assistance of his terrified companion. "Don't you see you have thrown her up into the wind, so that the sails don't draw a bit!"
"Mossifus! dis chile don't wan't to be food for de dogs."