“Now,” said the skipper.
The sack went overboard, and, at the same moment, the mate left the wheel with an ear-splitting yell and rushed to the galley for the life-belt which hung there. He crashed heavily into Joe, who had rushed on deck, but, without pausing, ran to the side and flung it overboard.
“Skipper’s overboard,” he yelled, running back and putting the helm down.
Joe put his head down the fore-scuttle and yelled like a maniac; the others came up in their night-gear, and in a marvellously short space of time the schooner was hove to and the cook and Joe had tumbled into the boat and were pulling back lustily in search of the skipper.
Half an hour elapsed, during which those on the schooner hung over the stern listening intently. They could hear the oars in the rowlocks and the shouts of the rowers. Tim lit a lantern and dangled it over the water.
“Have you got ’im?” cried Ben, as the boat came over the darkness and the light of the lantern shone on the upturned faces of the men.
“No,” said Joe, huskily.
Ben threw him a line, and he clambered silently aboard, followed by the cook.
“Better put about,” he said to the mate, “and cruise about until daylight. We ain’t found the belt either, and it’s just possible he’s got it.”
The mate shook his head. “It’s no good,” he said, confidently; “he’s gone.”