How long Tim and I clung to the spar I know not. The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and finding myself in the bottom of a boat crowded with men from the Kestrel. The sea was running mountains high, and the boat, without rudder or oars, was flung like a cork from wave to wave. The dawn was just beginning to show in the sky, and the thunder of surf and wind was deafening.
“Where is Tim?” said I.
No one heard me, or, if they heard, heeded me. I raised my head and looked anxiously from one to another of my comrades.
“Where is Tim?” I asked again, louder, and with a pluck at the sleeve of the man nearest me.
“Where all the rest are,” replied the man, “if you mean the lieutenant.”
I crawled from where I lay and came beside him on the bench.
“Drowned?” I asked.
“There was only room for one of you when we picked you up. He made us take you, and it was all we could do to get you aboard.”
“And Tim?”
“We gave him a rope to lash him to his spar, and lost sight of him.”