"What did I tell you?" said Obed B., quietly.
"Now," said Mr. Dunham, "you keep above deck the next four hours, and don't put your head below the scuttle. I don't want you at the wheel now; you are not fit to be there. Antone, go to the wheel. I'll see that he stands your next trick and his own too."
"Arrah, Misther Burley! and where's your rights that you've been blowin' about?" said Farrell. "You've only been making Billy Fitzgibbons's mother of yerself, and yer perfarmances don't come up to yer promises, at all."
I fell asleep with Farrell rattling away at him over my head; but I was sure the contemptible scamp was nearly powerless now as to any influence over the youngsters; for we had all set him down as a very Bob Acres, whose courage would ooze out at his fingers' ends, when brought to the scratch.
I had just got into a sound sleep, when we were all brought out of our bunks on the jump by the thrilling cry—I almost think I hear it now—"Man overboard!"
All was dark; the light in the forecastle had gone out; but, guided by the little patch of sky showing down the scuttle, I was on deck in an instant, with my trousers in my hand. Here, all was confusion; the ship was coming up to the wind with everything slatting; the watch were clearing away the starboard boat, Fisher having already cut the gripes, and I was in her before she was half way down the side. I remember asking "Who is it?" and some one, I did not know who, said, "Farrell." I remember thinking that I had heard Farrell say he could swim a little. We shoved clear of the ship, and got our oars out; she had taken aback, and was going round, but we pulled out as near as possible in her old wake—nothing was to be seen! With anxious eyes and heavy hearts we looked about us. Here is something floating; we lay round for it; it is the life-preserver which has been cut adrift from the taffrail; but where is the man?? We pull still further out in the wake of the ship, and heave up again; something ripples here abeam of us. "Lay round quick!"
We pass the spot. I think I can see a white pool or ring on the surface, and I involuntarily thrust my arm deep down; it touches something—the hair of my shipmate, sinking for the last time.
"Help here!" And Fisher and Black Hawk are at my side. They seize his shoulders and he is roused into the boat, and laid, face down, across the thwarts.
"Give way for the ship!" And we are quickly alongside, for she is now lying with the head yards aback, and lights set to tell us her whereabouts.
All has passed so quickly that I seem to have dreamed it all, and to have woke now for the first time. He soon shows signs of life, under the active treatment he is receiving, and he has revived sufficiently to sit up and look about him before the question is asked, by the old man: