“Over you! Yes, I just think we did. You went down at the bows—I see’d you myself—and came up at the starn. The cap’n, he see’d you come up, an’ said you bounced out o’ the water like the cork of a soda-water bottle. But here he comes himself. He told me I wasn’t to speak much to you.”
The captain, who was an American, with a sharp-featured and firm but kindly countenance, entered the berth at the moment.
“Well, my boy, glad to see you revived. You had a narrow escape. Wouldn’t have been so if it hadn’t chanced that one of our worst men was the look-out—or rather wasn’t the look-out. However, you’re all right now. Your ship went down, I expect, not long since?”
“About three or four months ago,” answered Watty.
“Come, boy, your mind hasn’t got quite on the balance yet. It ain’t possible that you could be as fat as a young pig after bein’ three or four months at sea in an open boat. What was the name of your ship?”
“The Lively Poll.”
“What! a Scotch ship?”
“Yes; part owned and commanded by Captain Samson.”
“I know him; met him once in Glasgow. A big, rough-bearded, hearty fellow—six foot two or thereabouts. Didn’t go down with his ship, did he?” asked the captain with a look of anxiety.
“No,” replied Watty with increasing interest in the American; “we escaped on a raft to an island, off which I was blown, while alone in my boat only two days ago.”