“Look out! catch hold!” cried a gruff voice, as a sailor sent a coil of rope whirling over the raft. Jarwin caught it, took a turn round the mast, and held on.
In a minute the raft was alongside. Weak though he was, Jarwin retained enough of his sailor-like activity to enable him to seize a rope and swing himself on board with Cuffy in his arms.
He found himself on the pure white deck of a craft which was so well appointed and so well kept, that his first impressions were revived—namely, that she was a pleasure-yacht. He knew that she was not a vessel of war, because, besides the absence of many little things that mark such a vessel, the few men on deck were not clothed like man-of-war’s-men, and there was no sign of guns, with the exception of one little brass carronade, which was probably used as a signal-gun.
A tall stout man, in plain costume, which was neither quite that of a seaman nor a landsman, stood with his arms crossed on his broad chest near the man at the wheel. To him, judging him to be the captain or owner of the vessel, Jarwin went up, and, pulling his forelock by way of salutation, said—
“Why, sir, I thought ’ee was a-goin’ to leave me!”
“So I was,” answered the captain, drily. “Hold on to the raft,” he added, turning to the man who had thrown the rope to Jarwin.
“Well, sir,” said the latter in some surprise, “in course I don’t know why you wos a-goin’ to leave a feller-creetur to his fate, but I’m glad you didn’t go for to do it, ’cos it wouldn’t have bin Christian-like. But I’m bound for to thank ’ee, sir, all the same for havin’ saved me—and Cuffy.”
“Don’t be too free with your thanks, my good man,” returned the captain, “for you’re not saved, as you call it, yet.”
“Not saved yet?” repeated Jarwin.
“No. Whether I save you or not depends on your keeping a civil tongue in your head, and on your answers to my questions.”