He took an end of main-royal-halliards and hitched it round her waist, and overhauled some slack which he grasped.
"Pull up your clothes," said he, "and free your legs and aim for the bottom of the boat, and jump when I sing out."
The little squab structure came floating up, and Hardy brought her in by a tug of the after-rope as she was coming.
"Jump!" he shouted.
And that girl, whose heart was of British oak, holding her clothes to her knees, sprang, and in a few breaths was sitting on a thwart and liberating herself from the rope, whilst she smiled up at her lover.
"Now, Julia," said he, "I am going to send you down the provisions and water. Stand by to receive them, but keep seated."
He handed the telescope to her, then fetched the breaker, which she received as it lay in that instant of heaving swell on the rim of the gunwale, and she rolled it to the thwart, then to the stern-sheets, taking the glass from Hardy at the next heave. He made one parcel of the provisions and hove them into the boat, then casting the painter adrift he jumped into the boat, let go the remaining line that held her, cut loose the oars, shipped the thole-pins, leaving the rudder unshipped, and made Julia the bow oar.
Could she row? Very well indeed; but the oars were a little heavy and she did not attempt to feather; in fact, she rowed like a smacksman, lifting the blade with its streaming glory of water on high, but the dip and thrust of it was that of a stout schoolboy, and between them they made the boat buzz, Hardy, with larger power of oar, keeping her straight for the York.
"Don't tire yourself," said he; "rest when you like. She'll not outrun us."