For a few moments they were silent. Then Harper spoke up: “Look here fellows, I don't know how it strikes you, but I'm hanged if I like this way o' doin' business. What we'd better do is to pull right back an' wake the Cap'n.”
“Meester McGlory, she haf geef us orders, ya-as?”
“What's that got to do with it?”
But the two Swedes shook their heads. They were slow of body and mind; the idea of rowing off without the mate was too daring. “You won't do it, then?”
They looked at each other.
“All right,” said Harper, pulling off his coat, “all right. Have it your way. But I'm goin' back, an' I'm goin' now.” He tossed his coat into the boat, pulled off his boots and threw them after, let himself down into the water, waded a few steps, and struck out for the schooner. It was but a little way. He swam around to the stern, and drew himself up by the boat tackle, which had been left hanging down close to the water. Rushing down into the cabin, where a single lantern burned dimly, he bent over the Captain, who lay dressed in his bunk, and shook him.
“Wake up, Cap'n, wake up!”
“Lemme be, will you?”
“Wake up! It's me—Harper.”
“I don't care if it is. You needn't drown me.”