“Then you jumped overboard to save me!” exclaimed Jack. “Just like you, Alick; I knew you would do it.”
Jack lay perfectly still all the time he was talking. It did not seem to occur to him that he could swim as well as his companion.
“Here we are!” cried Murray; “Heaven be praised—I was afraid that I should scarcely be able to make out the life-buoy, it is getting so dark.” He placed Jack’s hand on one of the beckets, and took another himself, and together they climbed up, and sat on the life-buoy. Murray drew the piece of cork up alongside, observing, “I do not like to desert the friend which has been of so much service in our utmost need, and to kick it away without an acknowledgment.”
Jack laughed. He had now completely come to his senses. “I’m very much obliged to you, Friend Cork,” said he. “I know, Murray, what you are going to say; I am, indeed, thankful to Heaven for having thus far preserved me, and to you too, my dear fellow. But, I say, can you make out the ship?”
“Not a shred of her. I scarcely know in what quarter to look for her.”
“Well, then, all we shall have to do is to hang on here till daylight. The weather is warm, so we shall not come to much harm if the wind goes down again, and I am very certain the captain will come and look for us.”
“It may be a question whether he can find us, though,” said Murray. “By-the-bye, I do not think that the buoy was fired. If we can find the trigger we will let it off, and that will quickly show our whereabouts.”
“A bright idea,” answered jack. “Hurrah! I’ve found it. Now blaze away, old boy.” Jack pulled the trigger as he spoke, and immediately an intensely bright bluish light burst forth above their heads, exhibiting their countenances to each other, with their hair streaming, lank and long, over their faces, giving them at the same time a very cadaverous and unearthly appearance. Jack, in spite of their critical position, burst into a fit of laughter. “Certainly, we do look as unlike two natty quarter-deck midshipmen as could well be,” he exclaimed. “Never mind, we have not many spectators.”
Jack and Murray’s coolness arose from the perfect confidence they felt that they would not be deserted while the slightest hope remained of their being found; and now that they had set off the port-fire they were almost as happy as if they were already safe on board. They had not much longer to wait. Presently a hail reached them; they shouted in return, and soon afterwards they saw a couple of boats emerging from the darkness. One took them on board—the other towed the life-buoy; and in half an hour more their wet clothes were off them, and they were being stowed away between the blankets in the sick-bay, each of them sipping a pretty strong glass of brandy and water. Of course, when the excitement was over, a very considerable reaction took place, and several days passed before they were allowed to return to their duty. Captain Lascelles then sent for Jack, and inquired how he came to tumble overboard? Jack had to confess that in his zeal he had gone beyond his duty, and that, instead of remaining at his station in the top, he had been attempting to do work which ought to have been performed by one of the topmen.
“You were wrong, as you will see, Rogers,” remarked Captain Lascelles. “Remember that there is a strict line of duty, and that going beyond, as you call it, may be quite as injurious to the service as neglecting any portion of it. Your business was to see that the men were properly reefing the topsail. By going out on the yard-arm you could not do this, and were thus neglecting your duty—not going beyond it. I have no intention of punishing you, on condition that you will recollect what I have said.”