It is all the work of a moment. I have just lashed the starboard side-light in the fore-rigging in obedience to the second mate's orders, and before I can swing myself inboard, the Sandwich buries herself bodily in a tremendous sea. My numb fingers relax their hold on the icy ratlines, and I feel myself swept away in the grasp of a mighty wave.
It seems that I am not alone. As I dash the water from my eyes, I see some one swimming, or rather treading water, within arm's-length. It is Mr. Burns, the second mate.
"Keep cool, boy," he shouts, "and kick your boots off first of all."
Fortunately I am not encumbered with a coat, and encouraged by his presence, I rid myself of my boots without much trouble. But I am at best an indifferent swimmer, while Mr. Burns, who was born on Cape Cod, seems perfectly at home even in the long topping seas against which I beat with frantic arms.
"Rest your two hands on my shoulders," he says, "and give over struggling. There'll be a boat out after us directly." But as I too readily obey, I note in the gathering darkness that on his usually cheery face is a look of anxiety. He does not expend his strength in swimming, but merely moves his legs and arms in such a way as to keep us both afloat.
I am chilled and numbed with the terrible cold. I can not speak, can hardly think. Down we sink into a deep black valley of water, to rise on the cresting summit of an awful wave, again and again, but still no welcome sound of oars rattling in rowlocks. An hour passes, which seems an age, and I despairingly see that Mr. Burns shows signs of growing weakness.
This fact, together with the growing darkness, benumbing cold, and shrieking gale, does away with the last remnant of my courage.
"It's no use, Mr. Burns," I gasp through my chattering teeth; "I'm going to let go. Good-by, sir."
Life is very dear to the young second mate. He has a wife and babe in his far-off home; no wonder that he makes no reply. Life is dear to me too, for that matter, only I have lost hope, and he has not. With a whispered prayer, I take my hands from his shoulders, and in another moment am swept unresistingly away in the darkness.
But all at once my outstretched hands touch some floating object, which at the same time strikes against my chest. Mechanically I throw both arms over it, and am vaguely conscious of being easily buoyed up, but by what I can not conceive. I dimly know that it is smooth, soft, round, and somewhat slimy to the touch. For aught I know or care, it may be the sea-serpent himself; but I am past conjecture. A drowsy, numbing, and by no means unpleasant stupor is creeping over me, while, as the roaring of wind and sea is strangely blended with an increasing singing in my ears, I dreamily drift into oblivion, my last conscious thought being that dying is not so very disagreeable after all.