It was Dick's voice and Carl was vaguely aware that his comrade was splashing toward him through the water in the boat.
"Goot-py, Tick," wailed Carl. "Dis iss der last, und ve vas a gouple oof goners! Led me take holt oof your hant as ve go down. Gompany vas goot ad a dime like dose."
"We're not going to Jones, matey, at least not right away. We've struck against a wreck of some kind and by luck I've grabbed a rope that was trailing overboard. Are you able to climb?"
"I ain'd aple, und I don'd vant to climb. I haf gifen oop, so I mighdt schust as vell go down as anyt'ing else."
Dick muttered impatiently, grabbed Carl and began tying the rope about his waist.
"Stay here," said he, "and I'll try and get you up. You'll have to help yourself a little, though."
Carl was vaguely conscious that Dick had disappeared somewhere. A few minutes later the whaleboat rolled over, was carried away, and Carl was left floundering in the water. Again he was sure he had reached the end, but again he found himself mistaken. There came a tug at the rope and Carl was hurled with stunning force against something big and heavy. Clutching the rope with his hands, he braced his feet against the object against which he had struck, and, after a fashion, started aloft. The pull on the rope helped him, and he finally floundered over a barrier, dropped on a flat surface and his wits slipped away from him.
He was utterly spent, and his unconsciousness was caused by sleep rather than by the blow he had received. When he opened his eyes, he found that it was morning, that the sun was shining, and that Dick was on his knees beside him, briskly shaking him.
"Vere ve vas, anyvay?" queried Carl, sitting up and peering around.
He was under the lee of a little house. Slippery planks, that heaved and rolled, were beneath him, and he could see the jagged stumps of two masts in the distance. A raffle of tangled rope lay near him.