The mate grasped the rigging with one hand, and leaning forward as far as possible stood with the hook poised. At first it seemed as though the object would escape them, but a touch of the helm in the nick of time just enabled the mate to reach. The hook caught in the jacket, and with great care he gradually shortened it, and drew the body close to the side.
“He’s dead,” said the skipper, as he fastened the helm and stood looking down into the wet face of the man. Then he stooped, and taking him by the collar of his coat dragged the streaming figure on to the deck.
“Take the helm,” he said.
“Ay, ay,” said the other; and the skipper disappeared below with his burden.
A moment later he came on deck again. “We’ll take in sail and anchor. Sharp there!” he cried.
The mate went to his assistance. There was but little wind, and the task was soon accomplished, and both men, after a hasty glance round, ran below. The wet body of the sailor lay on a locker, and a pool of water was on the cabin floor.
The mate hastily swabbed up the water, and then lit the fire and put on the kettle; while the skipper stripped the sailor of his clothes, and flinging some blankets in front of the fire placed him upon them.
Fora long time they toiled in silence, in the faint hope that life still remained in the apparently dead body.
“Poor devil!” said the skipper at length, and fell to rubbing again.
“I don’t believe he’s gone,” said the mate, panting with his exertions. “He don’t feel like a dead man.”