“Well, that’s the way I was saved. You know, ever since I can remember, I have bathed with Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane, and they taught me how to float—and it’s so nice, you can’t think how nice it is—and I can do it so easily now, that I never get frightened. But, oh!—when I was tossed over the side of the ship into the sea I was frightened just. I don’t think I ever got such a fright. And I splashed about for some time, and swallowed some water, but I got upon my back somehow. I can’t tell how it was, for I was too frightened to try to do anything. But when I found myself floating as I used to do long ago, I felt my fear go away a little, and I shut my eyes and prayed, and then it went away altogether; and I felt quite sure you would come to save me, and you did come, Glynn, and I know it was God who sent you. But I became a good deal frightened again when I thought of the sharks, and—”
“Now, Ailie, stop!” said Glynn. “You’re forgetting your promise, and exciting yourself again.”
“So she is, and I must order you out, Master Glynn,” said the doctor, opening the door, and entering at that moment.
Glynn rose, patted the child’s head, and nodded cheerfully as he left the little cabin.
The captain caught him as he passed, and began to reiterate his thanks, when their conversation was interrupted by the voice of Mr Millons, who put his head in at the skylight and said—“Squall coming, sir, I think.”
“So, so,” cried the captain, running upon deck. “I’ve been looking for it. Call all hands, Mr Millons, and take in sail—every rag, except the storm-trysails.”
Glynn hurried forward, and in a few minutes every man was at his post. The sails were furled, and every preparation made for a severe squall; for Captain Dunning knew that that part of the coast of Africa off which the Red Eric was then sailing was subject to sudden squalls, which, though usually of short duration, were sometimes terrific in their violence.
“Is everything snug, Mr Millons?”
“All snug, sir.”
“Then let the men stand-by till it’s over.”