“No. It cannot be laid to his fault in any case,” said the mate, sternly.
“Why not, sir?” I asked.
“Because his captain gave no order. Captain Si had the deck. He was in command.”
“Then Captain Bowditch is at fault, too,” I declared. “He did not speak quick enough.”
“He gave the order quick enough,” returned Mr. Gates, gloomily, “but Jim Barney hesitated. That’s where the fault lies. Jim Barney hated to give the Seamew right of way, and he held us onto the course after he was ordered to keep off. That’s where the fault lies, my boy—that’s where it lies.”
At another time I do not suppose the mate would have discussed the point with me, I being merely a foremast hand. But we were all stirred up and for the moment quarterdeck etiquette was forgotten.
But in a moment there was a cheer raised in our little boat, dancing out there on the swells. Thank’s head appeared, and one hand grasped the gunwale of the boat. He dragged into view the two Barney’s, locked in an embrace that could not be broken.
Bob Promise came to his help instantly. Together they held the twins up. Both the Barneys were unconscious. Mr. Jim must have had a frightful fight down there under the sea to hold to his brother and get out of the strong suck of the settling wreck.
The brothers were hauled into the small boat, and then Thank and Bob followed. As quickly as possible she was rowed back to the Gullwing.
Meanwhile the big tug Sea Horse had steamed up to us and rounded to under our bows. The hawser was passed and Mr. Gates took charge of the rigging of the bridle. Our skipper himself went to the rail to meet the incoming boat.