“How're we going to get 'er, Hunch? The topmast stays are down; I couldn't ever get down to that deck. Couldn't trust my hands, you see—all right except for my hands.”
“You stay here, and keep still,” said Badeau. He drew out his knife and cut the rope that lashed him to the shrouds; then worked his way painfully down to the deck. Holding now to the rail, now to the loose end of a stay, he fought through the waves, picked up the line, mounted with it to the cross-trees, and unaided hauled the heavier line out through the surf, and made the tackle fast to the foremast. The men on shore fell to with a will and sent out the hawser; and in another moment it was fast and taut, and the breeches buoy was dancing out to the schooner.
“Easy now,” said Hunch, as they lowered Buckingham into the canvas breeches.
“Lash 'im in, Hunch; lash 'im in! I'd do it—but my hands——”
They watched him without a word as the buoy went shoreward. The line sagged so low under his weight that half a dozen waves passed over him.
“They'll drown 'im!” said Peabody. Badeau was silent.
Buckingham was lifted to the beach, and the empty buoy came back.
“You go next, Hunch.”
“Get in—don't stop to talk!”
“Well—you see how it is—I guess you're a little better off than I am. You stand it better.”