“Silence, fore and aft,” cried the captain; and directly afterwards, borne down by the gale, there came a loud, strange, wild cry.
“That’s him! There’s no mistake about it,” cried Grimshaw; “hurrah!”
The crew gave a shout in reply.
“It will keep up the poor fellow’s spirits,” observed the captain. “Now, silence, men.” And now the awful thought crossed his mind, “Can I allow a boat to be lowered in this broken, heavy sea, with the greatest probability of her being capsized, and all hands in her lost?” These words were uttered partly aloud.
“I’ll go in her, sir,” said Mr Collinson. “There will be no lack of volunteers.”
“Volunteers alone then must go,” answered the captain. “The risk is a fearful one, yet I cannot allow the poor lad to perish.”
Scarcely had Mr Collinson shouted out, “I am going, lads! Volunteers for the boat,” than numbers of the crew came rushing aft, Jack Windy and Grimshaw among them.
“I don’t suppose we shall pick up the lad, after all,” growled the latter, “but we ought to try, I suppose.”
As no man pulled a stouter oar than he did, Mr Collinson gladly accepted him, as he did Windy.
Four other men were selected, and waiting for a favourable lull, the boat was lowered. The bowman, however, in shoving off, lost his balance, and overboard he went. Happily, the man next to him had just time to seize him by the leg, and haul him in, though not without difficulty his oar was saved. Not without sad forebodings of the fate of the boat’s crew, did the captain see her leave the ship’s side.