“You’ll not be after calling me a big thief, Dan?” exclaimed Pompey, getting angry at this insinuation against his honesty.
“No, but I’ll back your tongue to wag faster than any man’s in this ship,” replied Dan. “Come, bear a hand and get the water to boil, and then we’ll hang up these clothes to dry, for the stranger doesn’t look like a man who’ll be content to lie in bed longer than he can help, and he’ll be wanting to get up to-morrow morning and show himself on deck.”
“He may be a mighty fine gentleman,” muttered Pompey, “but I never did see much good come in hauling a man, whoever he was, out of de water.”
“What’s that you say, you old thief of the world?” exclaimed Dan. “Whether good or bad comes of it, it was as brave a thing as you or I or any man ever saw done, to leap on the raft as our mate did and manage to bring the stranger on board. We’ve some stout fellows among us, but not one would have dared to do that same. When the skipper hears of it he’ll be after praising him as he deserves; and there’s some one else, too, who’ll not think the less of him than she does now. It won’t be my fault if I don’t let the skipper know how it all happened—though maybe the stranger won’t forget to tell him—but as for the mate himself, he’s as likely as not to make light of it, and just to say that it’s what any other man would have done as well.”
The opinion uttered by Dan was shared generally among the crew, with whom Owen Massey stood deservedly high.
“Come, bear a hand, Pompey,” continued Dan; “the watch will be out before you get that fire to burn.”
By dint of hard puffing Pompey succeeded in his object, and Dan went aft with a kettle of hot water in one hand and a basin of soup in the other. He then, having obtained the requisite amount of rum, repaired to the mate’s cabin, where he found the stranger on the point of dropping off from exhaustion, and almost in a state of insensibility. The broth and grog, however, quickly revived him. He uttered but few words of thanks, and again falling back on his pillow, dropped off to sleep.
Gerald, who had witnessed Owen’s gallant act, trembling lest he should fail and lose his life, gave a shout of joy when he saw him successful and safe again on board. Prompted by his feelings, he sprang towards the mate, and grasping his hand, exclaimed, “Bravely done, Mr Massey! Oh, how thankful I am that you got him on board! It did not seem possible. Had you been lost, it would have broken Norah’s heart, and my poor father’s too—for, sick as he is, he couldn’t have borne it. I must go and tell them how it all happened—they’ll think more of you than ever—but I’m very glad Norah wasn’t on deck, for she would have felt as I did, and been terribly alarmed.”
“Hush, Gerald, hush! you think more of the affair than it deserves,” said Owen; “had I run any risk of losing my life, your father might have blamed me, as the safety of the ship while he is ill is committed to my charge; but remember that I took the precaution of having a rope round my waist, so that I couldn’t come to any harm, and what I did any man with strength and nerve could have done likewise—so, Gerald, don’t make a fuss about the matter. I saved the man’s life, there’s no doubt about that, and he, therefore, is the only person who need thank me.”
Notwithstanding what the mate had said, Gerald hurried into the cabin and gave a report of what had occurred, not failing to express his own opinion of the gallantry of the act. Norah, who had listened with breathless interest while he spoke, uttered an ejaculation of thankfulness, forgetting to make any inquiry about the man who had been saved. Captain Tracy, however, expressed himself much as Owen expected he would.