“Let him have it,” said Herring at last. “He can’t do much damage.”
When set free, the miserable man grasped the tiller and tried to steady himself. A lurch of the vessel, however, rendered his effort abortive. The tiller fell to leeward. Brock went headlong with it, stumbled over the side, and, before any one could stretch out a hand to prevent it, fell into the sea and sank.
His comrades were apparently sobered in an instant. There was no need for the hurried order to jump into the boat alongside. Ned Spivin and Billy were in it with the painter cast off and the oars out in a couple of seconds. The boat of the White Cloud was also launched with a speed, that only North Sea fishermen, perhaps, can accomplish, and both crews rowed about eagerly while the smack lay-to. But all without success. The unfortunate man was never more seen, and the visitors left the vessel in sobered silence, and rowed, without exchanging a word, to their own smack, which lay about a quarter of a mile distant on the port quarter.
Chapter Eleven.
Ruth and Captain Bream take to Scheming.
Returning to London, we will follow Captain Bream, who, one fine morning, walked up to Mrs Dotropy’s mansion at the west end, and applied the knocker vigorously.
“Is Miss Ruth at home?”
Yes, Miss Ruth was at home, and would he walk in.